The Light Shone Black
by Wyoming Outlaw
Summary: With the end of the desert war rapidly approaching, Destiny once again determines Dietrich's path, delivering Troy and him into a situation more awful than any they have previously encountered. One more part of their shared prophecy fulfilled, Dietrich struggles to save their lives and then afterwards, to regain his own.
1. Prologue

**I waited patiently upon the Lord;**

 **He stooped to me and heard my cry.**

 **He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay;**

 **He set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.**

 _-Psalm 40:1-2_

The end was near. Not today, nor tomorrow, but it was indeed approaching and approaching rapidly. There was perhaps a week left, at the most a fortnight.

The North African war would then cease for Germany.

There was no realistic possibility for the Afrika Korps to survive longer with what little resources it possessed. The remaining men and supplies were rapidly being depleted for an insane cause that had become unattainable months ago. Unless I was killed in the final days, I would become a prisoner of war, either of the British or the Americans, until this World War came to a blessed end.

I had accepted our inevitable defeat calmly, much in the same way I had accepted our victories. But the heady days of powerful victories in the desert were long gone and it was time to place them firmly in the past. We, the former conquerors were rapidly retreating towards our own defeat.

Rommel had left Africa in March, two months previously. I had been linked with him for years and it was impossible for me not to notice how his health had deteriorated over the last several months His face had been drawn and tight when he departed, looking much older than his years. We both knew the unspoken reality: It was highly unlikely Rommel would be returning to Africa.

A strong part of me believed Rommel had been retained in Europe to avoid the embarrassment of surrender. Or, to be more exact, for Hitler to avoid the embarrassment of having his favorite general captured and placed on display by the Allies. For the remainder of the soldiers, I doubt Hitler gave us little, if any, consideration.

The defeat was something I knew, and something that my fellow officers and my superior officers knew. From the commanding generals to the greenest gefreiter, everyone knew. However, accepting reality and speaking it aloud were completely different things. I never heard it mentioned near the enlisted men by an officer. To do so would set a bad example to the men we were leading.

We all knew about the end, yet it was something rarely discussed even privately, and certainly not openly. To be party to such a discussion would place one in great peril if the Gestapo should hear even the barest of words. There would only be so much that the Wehrmacht could do to protect us before we were taken aside and hung, or if a gallows or a tree were not available, shot.

More and more frequently I asked myself for what purpose had I served. To follow orders issued by insane men? Those same men who cared little of what happened to those they ordered to their deaths in battle?

I had no answer to those questions. But I did know that all my men and I had accomplished and endured through the last two years that it would all be for naught. I felt like the last nine years of my military life, thirteen if one included the time I had spent at the academy receiving my instruction, had been wasted.

But really, it had been even more of a waste than that. I had only known a military life since my earliest memories. First through my father and paternal grandfather, and then experienced through my own life. Even my early education had been received at a preparatory boarding military institute, a logical beginning for my journey. My entire existence had been focused and directed towards a military life. In the past, I had believed I had been bred and born for the sole purpose of continuing my family's tradition of service to Germany. I had originally resented my belief, but later came to embrace it with a passionate fervor

My existence had been dedicated to the art and business of war. I had known little else. Education, training and combat experience had all honed my skills of killing others and claiming territory for the Third Reich.

And now my journey was ending. And I was ready to return home to accept whatever fate awaited me.

With all the turmoil surrounding us, I was surprised to have been granted a rare weekend furlough to visit the neutral town of Ater. A part of me, a strong part I had to admit, felt guilty for receiving it while the remainder of the Afrika Korps was still fighting. Or, more accurately, actively retreating.

"Enjoy yourself, Hauptmann Dietrich." Oberst Siegfried Jabs had been almost fatherly, when he had granted the furlough to me. "You are an excellent officer and you have served me and the Wehrmacht well. I wanted to present you with a token something to recognize your accomplishments and dedicated service. Please enjoy the next few days. It probably will be your last opportunity of normalcy as a man for the unforeseeable future. It is unknown what the future will bring to Germany, and to all of us who have served her."


	2. Chapter 1

The bar was decrepit enough, although not the seediest one that I had visited in my life. I had purposely avoided any remotely better establishments which I knew were teeming with Allied soldiers. I had fought the Allies for almost four years on the battlefield. I had little desire to engage them in verbal or physical combat in a bar.

I was thankful for the dim lighting. It hid my German uniform. I had always worn my uniform proudly, but I had already received several jeers from Allied soldiers on the streets this afternoon. Placing black combs under their noses, the enlisted soldiers would yell out "Heil Hitler" when they saw me approaching. They followed me, taunting me to surrender now to avoid the strong likelihood of being killed.

I could have changed into civilian clothing to avoid the confrontations, I mused, but few items of my non-military clothing fit me. I had lost a considerable amount of weight over the last several months due to the monotonous diet of poor quality food we had been issued. However, I knew deep down to my soul that I would never deny my uniform or service to Germany regardless of the war's outcome.

How my life, professional and personal, had changed for the worse due to the war! I wistfully remembered the carefree days before the war began, bringing them clearly into focus as if they were just yesterday. It was the time when Nazi Germany was obsessively reaching for a pinnacle to burn away the ugly defeat of the previous war. It was a period which seemed to have been lived by someone else trapped within my body.

I considered my depressing surroundings, unable to prevent myself from comparing them to the fine establishments that I had previously frequented in Berlin during my off hours. Recognized as a rising Wehrmacht officer from an elite family, I was eagerly welcomed with open arms.

I remembered the glamorous clubs that I had visited during this bygone era. They had teemed with gorgeous and elegant women, dying to be seen on my arm, unabashedly showing their affection towards me on the dance floor. In the background were bands playing American Jazz and Big Band music, one of the few things that I cared for that had been produced by the Americans.

I would dance with the women to the early morning hours, pressing them closer and closer to me as the evening passed. Their desire would be unmistakable, as clearly as if spoken, the thin dresses which accented their sensuous bodies doing nothing to mute the expression of their want. Finally, I would escort them away to an elegant suite, where neither one of us would deny the other's temptation, having ravenous sex until dawn.

There were so many of these "last nights" that I had spent with various woman, the women who had pledged to wait and remain faithful to me no matter what the upcoming war would bring. Of course, none of these women were presently in my life. All of us had traveled our separate paths over the years. Even before the war, the military had continually displaced me, making any serious relationship almost impossible.

I used my career as an excuse. But frankly, since I had begun my military service, I had not desired anything more tangible than pure physical pleasure from the various women whom I had encountered.

I slowly returned to the present. The bar, if anything, looked even worse in comparison to my pleasant memories.

I was sitting at a small table in the back by myself, half-heartedly listening to what passed for a band. All its music sounded the same. Eventually, I began to suspect that it only knew one piece and hoped the patrons were too drunk on the horrible alcohol to notice.

I eventually noticed a woman near the bar. I could see her glancing at me, from the corner of her eye, trying not to make herself too obvious. She appeared to be unaccompanied, which was logical given the type of establishment we both were visiting.

I frankly had not been looking for companionship this evening, preferring to remain alone. However, the opportunity was blatantly presenting itself. From my vantage point, she appeared attractive enough. It did strike me as odd, given the heat, that the long sleeves of her dress reached past her elbows but that was hardly anything to give me pause.

Finally, I thought that I should act.

The next time she caught my eye, I indicated my interest by giving her a slight nod. I motioned to the empty chair beside me, indicating for her to join me. She immediately flashed a brazen smile and left the bar. She walked to my table and quickly took a seat, as if concerned that I would find someone else to keep me company tonight.

She was tall and graceful, although upon closer inspection, her simple black dress hung shapeless upon her slender figure. Normally, I preferred my women to be lithe, but she was too thin. Everyone was thin, I thought darkly, except for the Nazi leaders who continued to grow fatter at the expense of others.

The woman's hair was a dark brunette falling in thick waves past her shoulders and her brown eyes were almost black. Her eyes were circled by dark smudges, contrasting sharply against her light olive skin. She had high cheek bones and if I was a betting man, I would have placed even odds on her being French given the proximity of the French territories. She had appeared older, but when I looked closely, I surmised her appearance was due to hard living rather than the passage of time.

"Hello, Hauptmann. Care to buy a lady a drink?" she asked with a wink. She spoke in horrible German, and her accent confirmed her French nationality. I signaled the bartender. We sat in silence for the few minutes that it took for the drinks to arrive. The woman then moved her chair even closer to mine, pressing her leg suggestively against mine.

"Cheers," she toasted, touching my glass. She quickly downed her drink, looking at me expectantly. I decided that she probably desired another drink so I also drank mine quickly. My previous drink was terrible, but this drink was truly awful. It was an effort to finish it completely.

"Your name, Madame?" I finally asked.

"Cheri." She leaned towards me. "What do you have in mind?"

I couldn't help but laugh at her question. I would not be speaking with her if I wanted anything else than the one thing she had to offer me.

"You may speak French instead of German, if you prefer," I responded in my excellent French. Her poor accent grated on my ears like nails on a chalkboard. In fact, there was something I found completely off and irritating about the woman which I was unable to identify.

I briefly considered giving her some money freeing me to find a different companion for the evening. My intuition was clearly sending me a warning signal about her. I asked myself if I should listen to it.

After wavering for a few seconds, I made my decision given the briefness of my furlough.

"Do you have a place nearby?" I asked.

"Ah! Getting right down to business, no time wasted. I like a man who knows what he wants. Sure, I have a place not too far away. We can talk specifics when we get there. You must leave right after you're finished, though, as I have other customers who desire my company. But wherever you land, you will sleep well once you leave my place. I promise you."

I thought her comments vulgar, but still I nodded in agreement. We were both willing adults aware of what the other wanted. I was not purchasing her company for her conversational ability and staying the night with her was the last thing that I would have wanted.

I settled my bar tab and she accompanied me out, talking animatedly in French as she led me through a nearby dark alley.

"I'm sure business will be strong the next days with all you lonely Germans. Everyone will want a woman's company before they are sent away to a POW camp for God knows how many years." Abruptly, she halted under a burned out streetlight.

"Do you have any cigarettes, Hauptmann?" she suddenly requested. "Preferably American?"

"I apologize for being able to offer you only German cigarettes," I responded with contempt for her forwardness. "Would you still care for one?"

"Sure, why not?"

I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes along with my lighter. She greedily reached for the both of them, but my fingers quickly clasped around the lighter, preventing her from taking it.

Cheri quickly pulled out a cigarette from the pack and placed it between her lips, leaning over for me to light it. She blew out a plume of smoke, her eyes following the lighter as I pocketed it.

"Nice lighter. English?"

I merely shrugged at her. The lighter was of no concern of hers. I considered it something deeply personal, connecting me to a dying man and to a difficult episode from the past.

"It is okay, Hauptmann," she said with her own shrug. "Everything has changed sides so many times I don't think anyone knows where anything originally belonged. Beautiful memento, though." She thought for a moment. "May I have it for services about to be rendered? German Reich Marks have little value these days. The lighter will maintain its value. You may stay longer with me when you're finished, if you like." She held out her hand expectedly, twittering her eyelashes for emphasis.

"No," I said coldly, "You may not have it. The cigarettes, though, you may keep. And as for remaining in your presence longer, I will leave immediately afterwards as we initially agreed. I will have no desire to tarry."

Her eyes hardened at my blunt words. I cared little. She, or no one else would possess the lighter. It was mine to hold unto for its strength and power until the day I died. The cigarettes were my final pack, but I could do without them. Now would be as good as any other time for me to quit smoking. Cigarettes would be difficult to obtain in a POW camp and there should be no reason for me to stress myself with a desire for them during my captivity.

I motioned for Cheri to continue walking, but she remained in the same spot. I was surprised at her delay. Although not normally something that I would do with this type of woman, I bent down to kiss her, believing she desired me to do so.

Cheri placed her arms around my neck as if in resignation, quickly transferring the cigarette to her left hand before her right hand went to my chest.

I suddenly became lightheaded. I closed my eyes briefly to steady myself, but the action only intensified the feeling. It was only slightly better when I reopened my eyes. The drinks must have impacted me far more than I had realized, I thought, surprised. I generally had a high tolerance for alcohol.

The dizziness greatly increased. I began to feel nauseous. I had to place my hand suddenly on the cool bricks to keep myself from falling.

"Did you honestly believe I would make love to you, Boche? Dirty my body with the likes of a German? And take the chance of conceiving your bastard Nazi offspring?" Cheri spat.

From the shadows of the alley I saw two figures emerge. Now I realized the cause of my illness. She must have had my final drink drugged. But for what reason, I wondered? The desert war would end shortly for Germany. Anything I knew would soon be useless. There was little, if any, information I could provide my assailants which would assist the Allied war effort.

The alley was now spinning around me. I heard someone speaking French with an extremely heavy German accent.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I was the speaker. I sounded like a first year student.

"You are mistaken . . ." what was her name? For the life of me I couldn't remember her name.

Was it Darlene? Or Jolene? No, Nadine was the name of the American woman in a different bar, so many, many years ago in Benghazi. Had this French woman even told me her name?

"Make love? You are mistaken, Woman." Her name was completely gone from my mind so I used the only word I could articulate. Now barely coherent, it was requiring too much concentration to speak any French at all.

"I never had any intention of making love to you . . . Woman. You were merely going to be the means to my release."

I began to sway back and forth. I knew it would not be long before I fell. I was uncertain if she could even understand my words, they were such a garbled mess.

Apparently, the woman was able to understand my words sufficiently. The last thing I felt before I lost consciousness, was the sharp crack of her hand against my face before I slumped down into the dirt.


	3. Chapter 2

I was slowly becoming aware of my surroundings. My head was pounding and I had no desire to open my eyes. I could vaguely hear voices, muffled, as if they were far away.

I became fully awake when a bucket of water was thrown on me. Soon after, I realized that I was tied to a chair.

"Ah, Captain Dietrich! So nice of you to rejoin us," said a bright voice.

I gradually opened my eyes to see a stocky man casually sitting in a chair several feet in front of me. He had thick blonde hair and pale blue eyes and if it hadn't been for his accent, he could have passed for one of my native countrymen. At first, I thought that the voice sounded British, but the accent was off slightly. I decided he was probably from, or had at least spent a considerable amount of time in South Africa. Behind him stood two men, both appearing to be Arabic, along with the woman I had met in the bar. She was still wearing the same simple black long sleeved dress.

"Stuart Guest, here," the man spoke again.

Now I was positive Guest was a native of South Africa. I also noticed that Guest was not wearing an Allied uniform. My instincts warned me that he was not connected to the British war effort. He must have a different motive for abducting me, I thought. I wondered what it could be, but I knew that I would likely find out soon enough.

Guest moved his chair closer. The overpowering odor of cologne immediately engulfed me. Its sweet, feminine scent made my nausea rise again. I couldn't help but think the man must literally be bathing with the liquid instead of with water.

"I'm honored to be in your presence, Captain Dietrich. The list of your attributes is nearly endless!"

I wanted to tell Guest that he had me at a disadvantage, but the effort that it would have taken to have the words come out hardly seemed worth it. He didn't seem to mind and continued on, reciting facts about me as if he had written a dossier.

"You are from an excellent and prestigious family with a famous father and socialite mother. A 1934 graduate near the top of your academy class. You are a war hero, awarded the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, highly respected by the Germans as well as known and feared by the Allies. You reported directly to Rommel himself in the early days of the desert campaign."

I couldn't help but to be surprised that the man had troubled himself to know so much about me. Again, I wondered what he could possibly want with me.

His next words were ominous and confirmed my suspicions.

"I would imagine that you are probably wondering why you are waking up with a terrible hangover, tied to a hard chair instead of basking in the afterglow in a soft bed with a woman?"

I inclined my head, all too interested to hear the answer.

"Well I don't want to leave you hanging, then. I'll be happy to tell you the reason why you are here."

Guest moved his chair even closer. So close was he now, I could smell his acrid perspiration unconcealed by the cologne. He leaned in, as if he was ready to tell me the great secrets of the world.

"I am only going to ask you for a simple piece of information. Once you provide it, you are free to leave here, with absolutely no consequences."

No consequences? I wondered how stupid Guest thought me. The man had clearly stated his name and allowed me to see his face. I seriously doubted that he would allow me to merely walk out the back door once he was finished with me, no matter what he said. His over lack of caution was all I needed to confirm that Guest would put me to death once I had given whatever information he was seeking.

"You may return to the Afrika Korps, what little is left of it, or you may stay here in Ater and wait out the war," Guest continued. "I myself suggest the latter."

I narrowed my eyes in response. I could care less what Guess was suggesting. I cared only marginally more that he had such a low opinion of me as to think me a deserter.

"Oh, come now! Don't look so offended, Captain. It's not such a bad suggestion, is it? There is still the very realistic possibility you will be killed in combat. And even if you are to survive Germany's defeat, this neutral town offers so many more amenities than a POW camp. You could avoid either unfortunate consequence. But as I said, the choice is up to you."

I stared at the wall beyond Guest's head. I already found him tiresome and wished that he would get to the point.

Guest clucked his tongue, obviously disappointed in my continued lack of response. "Oh Captain! Was I so wrong to think that you are a reasonable man?"

One of the other men said something I was unable to catch.

Smiling thinly, Guest nodded. "Yes, I do agree that the Captain is at least polite." He turned his attention back to me. "Look old chap, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I myself would much prefer to do it the easy way. I believe you would, too. It's ever so much simpler. A lot less mess and bother for the both of us."

I maintained my silence.

"Come now, Captain!" Guest cajoled. We really have no time for this. You know as well as I do that it's not going to change the end result."

I continued to hold his gaze, not wavering.

"I see." Guest sighed and made a motion to one of the other men. "Tristan, would you be so kind? We need to loosen up the Captain a bit, provide him with an incentive to cooperate."

The taller man immediately approached me and struck me across the face. When I still didn't speak, he struck me a second time, harder than the first time.

Guest smiled. "A simple yes or no confirming your understanding is the only answer you need to provide me currently."

"Yes," I finally agreed reluctantly.

"Good! We're already making progress. See how easy that was? Now, let's get down to business, shall we?"

"I truly have no idea what business that we could possibly have."

"Let me enlighten you then. An excellent and most reliable source has provided me with a very valuable piece of information. Apparently you and Sergeant Troy possess something which I dearly want. Now, what I require from you is very simple and straightforward. And I would think that because of its simplicity I should only have to request it once."

At the mention of Troy, I gave Guest a puzzled look despite myself.

Guest smiled. "Ah! I see that I have your interest now!"

And he did have my interest. What was Troy's involvement? What could Troy and I possibly possess together that Guest would desire?

"At this very moment, Sergeant Troy is tied to an identical chair in the very next room. I thought I would question you first since you seem to be a far more reasonable man than he."

Despite the seriousness of my situation, I very nearly smiled. By default, I could only be more reasonable. Troy, in all of his stubborn American pig headiness was nothing near being a reasonable man.

"I will tell you what I want: I want the Nazi gold in Troy's and your possession. Or, at the very least, I would like the location where the two of you have hidden it."

I couldn't stop my eyebrows from reaching nearly to my hairline.

"With your combined knowledge of the desert, it would not have been difficult for the two of you to stash it in a secluded location to be retrieved later, like when the desert war is over. Which, as you must be aware of, should be any day now."

"What gold?" It was so ridiculous that I almost burst out laughing.

"Oh, Captain! You disappoint me! Surely you can do better than such feigned innocence! Can't you appreciate what finding this gold would mean? Now, just tell me where it is so I can release you and Sergeant Troy."

Now at least, I understood Guest's motives. This was all in regards to money. While I had not ruled out the possibility of him being a British deserter, I doubted that he had any patriotic feelings towards the English. I assumed that he was using this opportunity strictly for his own personal gain. He was obviously a profiteer. Guest had probably been in the area for years before the war, making money any way possible, legally or illegally.

Suddenly weary, I sighed. "Exactly who told you this preposterous story regarding hidden Nazi gold?"

"A very dear friend of yours, who just happens to be a frequent client of mine. Willy didn't have any hard currency for sex and candy a few nights ago. He traded information as payment for the goods and services provided. He was rather desperate, you see." Guest shook his head in mock sadness. "I can only assume he wanted one last minute of serenity before heading off to a POW camp for the unforeseeable future."

Willy? I was puzzled for a few seconds about who "Willy" could be. I had no friends named Willy. Then it suddenly dawned on me. I looked up intently at Guest.

He only smiled, realizing I had correctly identified my betrayer.

So it was Wilhelm Meyer for whom I could blame for my current situation. There could be no other "Willy". Really, Meyer's betrayal did not surprise me in the least. He had vowed for years to seek revenge against me due to his anger and jealousy.

And now, Meyer had finally followed through on his threats.

I assumed Guest's passing statement on Meyer's "condition" was an allusion to a drug dependency. While I received no satisfaction from it, I knew that my suspicions from over the years had finally been confirmed. Meyer must have known I would be visiting the town on my furlough and used it to his advantage. He had seized the opportunity, concocting the lie concerning the gold. It had apparently paid off two fold, satisfying his hunger for drugs and for revenge against me.

The additional opportunity to betray Troy would have been an added bonus to Meyer, I concluded. After all, I had assumed Meyer's post due to his inability to contain Troy and the Rat Patrol. Although my successes at stopping Troy's marauding had been few and far between, I had at least been somewhat able to limit his operations. Where Meyer had totally failed, I had seen some success. It had been just one more insult to Meyer's ego that he couldn't forgive.

Vaguely, I could understand how Guest could have drawn a connection between the leader of the Rat Patrol and myself. He would not have been the first. It had not gone unnoticed by the German command that the Rat Patrol had continually escaped my efforts to put an end to their menace. While I had always been able to justify my failures, it had become more and more difficult as the war progressed.

Satisfied that I had the answers, I returned my focus to Guest.

"And you were foolish enough to believe a drug addict?" The idiocy of the entire situation was worse than preposterous.

"I believed Meyer's information enough for a one-time trade of heroin. Cheap enough, and I thought that it could prove to be a good investment."

Not only was Meyer using drugs, but he was using the extremely potent narcotic of heroin. I felt a sudden distaste and disdain at Meyer's weakness and inability to control himself.

Well, I thought. Guest had heard the lie, now it was time he heard the truth. I only hoped that it was as easy for him to believe. "There is no gold, Guest."

"Don't be coy with me, Captain. It does not become you," Guest said.

"I'm afraid it's not me who has lied to you. Meyer knowingly gave you false information in exchange for heroin. Any remaining 'Nazi' gold was shipped to Berlin weeks ago when it became obvious the Afrika Korps would fall. Meyer would have been aware of this fact."

Guest, for once, was silent as he seemed to consider the probability of the truth in my words against what Meyer had told him.

"Besides, if I had possessed anything of value," I continued, "I would have used it to purchase supplies for my men."

Guest snorted. "I wish I had a guinea for every time I heard an officer utter those words while he was secretly living the life of luxury. I would be a very rich man indeed, Captain."

"I already _am_ a wealthy man. As it is, it would be impossible for me to spend what I currently possess in my lifetime. I have no use for any additional money."

"They say that 'one can never be too rich.' And as I'm an absolute believer in that sentiment, I will err on the side of caution." Guest thought for a moment. "Speaking of your family's wealth . . . I did consider holding you for a substantial ransom. Perhaps they would pay for your release?"

This time I did actually laugh out loud.

"If you know my background as well as you claim, Guest, you are already aware of my estrangement from my family. My father would never pay a ransom for me. He would consider me collateral damage in the complexities of war. Not to mention that he would judge my situation as the deserved result for being foolish enough to be captured by a profiteer."

"You will be the last Dietrich to carry on the family name. Truly a shame." Guest wisely dismissed the idea of ransoming me. "Ah well, we'll just need to return to the reality of your current situation then. If you would just get on with it and tell me what I have asked?"

"There is nothing for me to tell you. You may ask me a thousand times and my answer will not change."

Guest sighed loudly and then shrugged. "It looks like we'll be here for a while, so we might as well be friendly. May I call you Hans?"

"I reserve my given name for my family and close friends, Guest. Call me Dietrich."

"Calling you by your surname is a tad too sterile for my tastes, especially considering our continued close proximity. I will continue to call you 'Captain' out of respect for your rank and accomplishments.

"As you wish."

"Now, as I was saying, _Captain_ , you will provide me the information I'm seeking, one way or the other."

Again, I stared at the wall. Obviously, I had failed in convincing the man that there was no information to give. I darkly wondered how long Guest would torture me before he realized that it was I that was telling him the truth.

"By any chance are you a dancer, Captain?" Guest asked me suddenly.

Before I could answer, Guest turned to one of his men. "Tristan, please remove his boots," he ordered.

The man quickly stripped the boots and socks from my feet. Guest handed Tristan a thick ruler and gave him a short nod. Tristan proceeded to bring it quickly down on my feet. The unexpected pain caused me to inhale sharply.

"Answer, please, Captain. Do you dance?"

"Poorly," I lied.

Guest was silent for a moment and then brightened. "I know! You play the piano? You certainly have the hands for the skill." He nodded to Tristan.

Tristan brought the ruler down hard across the fingers of my left hand.

I grimaced. "Even worse than I dance, I'm afraid."

"Your lack of talent certainly doesn't present me very many options, Captain," Guest said regretfully. He considered for a moment. "Not the feet nor the hands. Well, I guess we can turn to a more traditional way. Give a little nod back to my British Royal Navy ancestors. The Navy's old method certainly does bring results, I must admit. I suppose that the classics never go out of style, do they?"

I felt a growing knot in my stomach. It was obvious Guest planned on torturing me until I confessed. There was nothing I could do to prevent it unless I provided him with false information. Even if I did invent a hiding spot, Guest would no doubt cross reference it with Troy. Knowing Troy, he was even less likely to break than myself. The end result would not change: We would still be killed when Guest was finished with us.

For lack of any better solution, I decided to try to reason with Guest again. "Have you considered the possibility, Guest, that the man willing to betray me has already betrayed you? Provided you with false information to suit his own purpose?"

My question was answered with a wicked laugh.

"Of course it has! And wouldn't that just make for a delightful twist? But, in the end, it doesn't really matter. You know, Willy Boy said it would take an awful lot to make you to talk."

Considering that Meyer knew that I had nothing to talk about, I thought, I was sure that he had.

"He also said that he would have stuck around to enjoy the entertainment, but in the end, he had to give his regrets. Apparently, he had an impending date with the English Eighth Army which he just couldn't miss."

Briefly, I wondered what engagement Meyer had with the 8th Army. Perhaps he was surrendering? Like the coward that he was, I thought. Truly, though, I knew that it was more likely that he just wanted to avoid facing me.

Guest pushed his chair back, moving to stand by me. Tentatively, he gently touched my cheek with his index finger. Then, bolder, he stroked my skin.

Reflexively, I tried to pull away but the bindings stopped me. I was forced to endure the touch and the frank scrutiny of the repugnant Guest. Honestly, I would have preferred that he had continued to have me beaten with the ruler.

"You are a handsome man, Captain. Even Cheri commented on your good looks, and at this point, nothing really moves her. Won't it be a shame to ruin such a fine specimen?"

With that, mercifully, he finally turned his attention from me. "Tristan and Nasir, flog him until he talks," Guest ordered.

I drew myself as straight as I could. "We are in for a very long day, Guest, if you are waiting for me to talk. Because there is nothing for me to tell you."

"Oh, you will talk in the end. Trust me when I say, my dear Captain, that I'm the one getting the short end of the stick here. Having to wait until you and Sergeant Troy break is going to be pure torture for me."

Guest suddenly gave an amused laugh. "Short end of the stick! Torture! I made a funny!"

"I want to watch," Cheri said calmly, speaking for the first time. She walked up to Guest and linked her arm through his. "I've never seen a man tortured before. It should be something interesting to watch."

"You know, I've been getting poor feedback on your recent performances. Perhaps this is the inspiration that you've been needing? You'll be positively purring like a kitten tonight for the customers, Cheri Darling." Guest patted her hand. "You're also free to witness Troy's beating if it will give you any jollies."

"No, I only want to watch the Boche. He insulted me and deserves whatever happens to him," Cheri said coldly

"Never realized you savored revenge so sweetly, my dear. I'll have to remember that, won't I?" Guest gave Cheri a look and then cleared his throat. "Well then, we'll watch together. It's been a while since we've shared something like this, something so intimate."

Guest walked to a nearby cabinet and pulled out a wicked looking narrow whip. "And what, really, is more intimate than watching a man fall to pieces? Be it at the hand of pleasure." He arced it through the air a few times, smiling as it snapped. "Or at the hand of pain."

My bindings were loosened and the two men roughly pulled me to the other side of the room. There were short manacles hanging from the wall and I was quickly clasped in them. My face was against the wall and my arms were up above my head, pulled wide apart. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but even more so when I realized the purpose of the stance. It pulled flesh and muscle taught across my back, all the better to inflict maximum damage and pain from the cutting blows of the lash.

I felt Tristan take my shirt collar in both hands and pull until the material ripped. He pulled the ruined garment from my body exposing my back.

Tristan caressed my exposed skin like a lover.

"Such beautiful skin! So smooth and so fine. Not a blemish on him, Mr. Guest," he pronounced reverently.

I ground my teeth as I tried to recoil from him.

Guest snorted. "That's an officer for you, Tristan. Pampered and protected."

"What a shame it is, that in a mere moment, all that fine skin will look like a dog's dinner." With a final touch, Tristan ran his finger down the knobs of my spine. "It will never be beautiful again."

I shivered at both the man's touch and at his words.

"Indeed, Tristan, indeed." Guest came past Tristan and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. He put his sweaty cheek next to mine, his breath heavy and moist with excitement. "Captain, I'm giving you a final chance. Where is the gold?"

I stood there in silence, staring at the wall in front of me. I could feel the tension increase in the room as they waited for my reply.

When I gave them none, Guest made a resigned noise and pushed my head away. "Well, then, you can't say that I didn't try. Feel free to scream, Captain. There's no shame in it," Guest said. "Everyone ends up screaming in the end, you know."

"I want to hear him scream, Stuart. Will he scream?" Cheri asked, a cold fascination in her voice.

"Oh, he will, my dear," Guest assured her. "Tristan, after we have begun with the captain, we'll start in on the sergeant. Though, I do believe Sergeant Troy will be a harder nut to crack."

"Yes, Mr. Guest. Maybe hearing the Captain will make the Sergeant more cooperative?" Tristan suggested.

"Exactly what I was thinking! And you know that I always say that variety is the spice of life. So with Troy, I was thinking, that instead of flogging him, we'll work on his feet." Guest paused for a moment, apparently still strategizing. "And then, Nasir, once Tristan begins with Captain Dietrich, we'll move next door to loosen up Sergeant Troy. We'll play each against the other to improve our progress."

"Sounds like a very good idea, Mr. Guest," Nasir responded.

Apparently satisfied that everyone knew the plan and their place in it, Guest finally gave the direction that I had been dreading:

"Tristan, please commence. But make sure you only lash his back. Let's stay away from that handsome face."

I could hear the thin leather whistle through the air before the whip even made contact with my flesh. When it did, the sensation was almost indescribable. It felt like someone had set a knife on fire before slicing it into me. It was so intense, I couldn't help gasping from the pain.

"Oh, yes," I heard Guest murmur. "That's it."

I heard something in Guest's voice and tried to identify it. Even when I did, I thought that surely I must be mistaken.

"That's it. Oh, yes, that's it. More, please, Tristan."

Guest's voice was heavy with what I could now plainly identify as arousal. I had not been mistaken. I cursed myself for allowing myself to fall into the hands of a perverted mad man.

The blows were coming at a steady pace. Trying to focus on anything that would help me to block out the pain, I turned my thoughts elsewhere.

Of all things, I latched onto Kommandant Eberhardt Schnass' office.

Vividly, I recalled the time when I had been summoned there to answer for the disastrous prank that had almost ended my military career before I had even graduated from the Academy. As I did then, I counted the books behind him, waiting for Schnass to speak.

Behind my tightly closed lids, I began focusing on the color of the books' binding and how they were arranged on the shelf.

Tan, then blue, green, tan again, red . . .

The flogging was causing me to lose my concentration. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus. I redoubled my efforts to keep my reality at bay.

Again, I saw the books. Second shelf, now, I told myself: Tan, blue, red, green, tan, red, scarlet red, blood red. The same bright red color of blood shed by a man, like the blood that I could feel trickling out of all the furrows in my back. . .

Try as I might, I couldn't even picture Schnass' face, much less his office. My ability to be able to concentrate on anything but the painful reality of my situation was gone.

Then, just as Guest had promised, I began screaming just like all the others before me.


	4. Chapter 3

I have no recollection on how long my torture continued.

Periodically, Guest would stop the flogging and ask me the same simple question as to where the gold was hidden. When I shook my head, he would coolly order Tristan to carry on. Soon, through the fog of my pain, I was conscious of hearing Troy's screams, muffled by the wall that separated us.

Guest would leave and return later, apparently working both of us just as he had outlined.

I was practically hanging in the manacles when the flogging finally ended. The wall in front of me was splattered with my tissue and the metallic smell of my own blood was heavy in the air.

Guest ordered me to be unshackled and returned to the chair. They drug me across the room and propped me up, tightly retying me. It was only due to the bindings that I did not topple to the floor.

"Captain, we did not have a very productive afternoon," Guest said, sounding very disappointed. "I'm very clearly stating what I need, but you are not listening and responding appropriately. To say that you've let me down would be an understatement." Guest paused and put his hand under my chin, tilting my head up so that I was looking into his eyes.

I wondered if he was waiting for an apology. If so, he was going to be disappointed again. Even if I had been so inclined, I hardly had the strength to give one.

"Still nothing to say for yourself?" Guest let my head drop. "Unfortunately, it's almost sundown, and I need to focus on my nighttime operations which will begin shortly. But don't worry, Captain, I won't forget about you. I promise you that we'll take this up in the morning where we left off."

I had expected no less. Guest's words did allow me the ability to make a rough estimate on the time passage. I had now been held captive for almost a day. I would have been officially on leave since yesterday morning, due to return tomorrow afternoon. My absence would be clearly noted by tomorrow's nightfall. The key question was if anyone in the Afrika Korps would act on my disappearance.

My superiors and men would know it would be extremely out of character for me to return late. However, would they make a quick assumption that I had defected? Or, perhaps more likely that I had allowed myself to be captured by the Allies? In all the chaos, who could allow themselves to be overly concerned, with a missing Hauptmann? My unit frankly had more important issues with which to grapple, namely their imminent surrender.

"Captain," Guest asked. "You still with me?"

I moved my head just enough to indicate that I was still conscious.

"As I was saying, as much as I would love to trust you to spend a quiet night contemplating what's in store for you tomorrow, I can't take the chance to leave you to your own devices. I can't risk you escaping or making any noise that would interrupt the activities upstairs this evening.

"So as a special treat, I'm going to give you a little something to help you relax. It will take away the immediate pain of your back and assist you with sleeping. I believe you will find it most enjoyable. I've never known anyone to think otherwise."

I instantly became suspicious of Guest's solicitousness. He and I both knew that he cared nothing for my extreme pain. In fact, I knew that he was enjoying it.

"Tristan, once we are finished with the both of them, I want you to keep them locked in separate rooms down here. Troy can escape faster than Houdini from what I've heard. I don't want to take any chances with either of them."

"Yes, Mr. Guest," Tristan answered.

Guest continued on with his orders. "Retie the Captain's left arm so it is in position. And Cheri, darling? Bring me my personal kit, and no sampling of the candy inside, there's a good girl."

I didn't have the strength to oppose him, and Tristan quickly retied me.

Cheri soon brought Guest a small wooden box. He thanked her and then once again pulled his chair up beside of me, his "kit" resting on his lap.

When Guest opened the box, I could see that it contained several items that looked indeed as if they were from a doctor's kit. Despite myself, I wondered briefly if he had been serious about easing my pain. Then, realizing that the box contained something far different than laudanum or morphine, I quickly looked at him before looking down. I noted the position of my arm and as to why Tristan had re-tied it into the position that he had. I tried to pull away from him, but due to my bonds, I was unable to move far.

Guest removed a thin rubber strap from the box. Quickly and expertly he pulled it tight around my upper forearm.

"It should take me only a few minutes. You're young, strong and in good shape, with what appear to be virgin veins. Have you ever used heroin before, Captain?" His tone was casual, talking to me much as if we were in a café sharing coffee and a pastry.

"No," I said with true disgust. "I would never poison my body with such a drug!" Even though it was an open secret that Hermann Goring was a morphine addict, the thought of willingly taking illicit drugs was something that I would never consider acceptable. I had always held addicts in contempt. The thought of willingly taking illicit drugs, especially an opiate such as heroin, was repugnant to me.

Truth be told, the idea of all drugs turned my stomach. There had been rumors about German soldiers being given drugs to remove their fears and their fatigue in order to fight more viciously, but I had not seen any evidence of it in the units I had commanded, or in any of those near me. The thought of giving them drugs to make them better "warriors" was ludicrous, and in my opinion, more than a little desperate. Couldn't the idiots in charge realize drugs would only make the soldiers unpredictable and incapable of rationale thought? My soldiers were already superb warriors. They proved it every day by what they had accomplished with so little. It was an illustration that men needed leadership to motivate them to achieve, not drugs.

Guest tapped the crook of my arm. "Relax, Captain! You're as tight as Cheri was before the war." He laughed at his own joke until it became obvious from Cheri's scowl that she was not amused. "Ah, well, at any rate, you really should be more opened minded," countered Guest. "You may enjoy this more than you think. You ferociously dedicated men usually receive the most pleasure from opiates."

"I will not accept it willingly, Guest," I told him. I wanted nothing more than to escape my bonds and turn the needle that he was brandishing at me on himself.

"Maybe not now, but you'll change your mind once you experience it. Captain, please hear me out. Heroin will help you relax from all the intensity you have bottled up inside of you. The intensity which you have never been able to escape through combat or through women or with alcohol? This is the answer to that!"

I considered what he said. It was a truth and had been my reality since I had been a young man. It was also true that I had tried all avenues to relieve it, and all the ones that he had named. But yet, I had never been able to escape it. Now, at the word of a man that I considered for all intents and purposes to be an expert in the subject, here was the proposed cure. For a moment, I felt with sudden clarity that there might be some reasoning why men became addicted to drugs.

"You wouldn't even need as much heroin as I'm going to give you now for daily use. No, a smaller dose would do fine, just something to take the edge off a difficult day. And after all, an addiction is an addiction, Captain. I know that you're already addicted to nicotine."

"There is just a slight difference between cigarettes and heroin," I responded sarcastically.

"Is there?" Guest laughed at my ignorant denial. "I am sure that if offered you a cigarette right now, you would take it without hesitation."

I could feel my pulse increase slightly and my mouth start to tingle at the thought of smoking. I realized that Guest was quite correct, as much as it pained me to admit it.

"Everyone has their personal poison of choice. And when you can't admit that, when you make excuses for it, you're an addict." Guest was watching me with amusement. "Speaking of cigarettes, I found a lighter in your pocket. Beautiful piece of workmanship, not to mention valuable. Cheri begged me for it, but in the end, I have decided to keep it for myself." He looked at Cheri and then leaned in closer to me. "She would probably just sell it when she needed the cash. Not much appreciation for the finer things in life, that one," he whispered.

I looked at Cheri who either hadn't heard Guest's stage whisper or was beyond caring what he thought about her.

Guest was still interested in the lighter. "I have heard of soldiers taking things from the men that they've killed. A little souvenir from a vanquished English enemy, perhaps?"

"Hardly," I answered.

"Then how did you come into possession of it?" Guest took the lighter from his pocket and examined it. I glared at him, and my action was not lost on him. As if to irritate me, he snapped it open and lit it, before slowing closing it with a click. "I scarcely doubt Mr. James Lyon would just up and give it to you on the battlefield, one gentleman to another."

"It is of no concern of yours, Guest, but as a matter of fact, Sergeant Lyon did give it to me on the battlefield."

Guest raised his eyebrows. "My goodness, and I thought the days of a civilized war were over."

"Guest, I promise you," I told him calmly, "the lighter will once again be in my possession when I leave here."

"I don't think so, my good Captain. It now belongs to me and I'm right pleased to have it. Besides, you won't be leaving here in the foreseeable future."

Cheri cleared her throat, interrupting the conversation. When I looked at her I saw that she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other like an impatient child.

"May I have some now, Stuart?" asked Cheri, obviously fixated on the box that Guest still held on his lap.

"Not now, it's much too early for you, my dear. You have work to do tonight." Guest checked my vein again, tapping it lightly. "Very nice, almost where I want it. I want to do everything possible for you to have an easy and pleasurable first time experience, Captain. It's not often we have a virgin, is it, Cheri?"

Cheri didn't answer, her attention obviously still on the heroin that she couldn't have.

"You know, if I properly wanted to make you and Troy talk, I could make you both become heroin addicts. It's an ugly experience for someone to have to endure severe withdrawal symptoms. If only I had the time! But, as we only have a few days before the Afrika Korps collapses and the Allies find my gold, we don't." Guest looked at me with searching eyes. "You know, Captain, I really don't enjoy the torture."

"Really?" My stomach turned as I remembered the unconcealed pleasure in his voice as Tristan had started to beat me.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't." Guest grinned. "But how I would absolutely enjoy the process of turning you into an addict. It would be a delicious experience for the both of us," he said, lightly licking his lips for emphasis. "After a few weeks of heavenly bliss, you would be unable to resist the deadly embrace of the drug." Guest's finger traced a light circle on my inner wrist. "You would do anything, and I do mean, anything for it. You would be like Cheri." Guest glanced over at the woman. "How did you become aware of the wonders of heroin, my dear?"

"I was a dancer in Paris, with the ballet. I found it helped me control any weight gain and take away the pain of dancing."

"Innocent enough, right? But now, Cheri will do anything for her next hit. Won't you?" Guest held up the needle and then laughed before snatching it away from Cheri's grabbing hand. "See, look at that! Desperate for it. You know, she loathes prostitution, but I wasn't going to just provide her unlimited drugs when I only occasionally took advantage of her body." Guest gave me a sidelong look and a wink. "Not that, she's not really my type, anyway."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Guest what his type was. Then, I realized that I likely did not want to know. Instead, I looked again at Cheri. While her dress was hanging from her like a sack due to her extreme thinness, I could still picture a dancer's lithe body under it. Again, I felt pity for her. It was a shame for a woman with so much talent had ended up in Tunisia, selling her body to keep her demons at bay.

Cheri noticed my study of her. "Don't judge me, Boche. One doesn't know what one will do to survive. You were willing enough to buy time with me last night. I seriously doubt it would have been the first time you would have been with a woman such as me. I'm glad you passed out before you did anything. The thought of you being in my body fills me with disgust."

I looked away due to her crass words, and ultimately, the measure of truth that she spoke. I could see Tristan behind Guest preparing the drug for injection.

"She's right, Captain, you shouldn't judge her. You would be the same if you took heroin long enough. You would sell the body of your own mother for your next dose, never mind giving me the location of some hidden Nazi gold."

"There is no Nazi gold!" I nearly yelled.

Guest looked at me thoughtfully. "The gold isn't even yours so I don't understand why you're protecting it."

He leaned over and gently took my arm, checking the vein. His cologne overwhelmed me and I fought the urge to vomit.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have nice veins, Captain? Simply divine, so fresh, so untouched. It fills me with indescribable pleasure to think that I'll be the first to defile them. Don't be afraid. I've done so many injections that I'm an expert. I'll go slow and steady. And just for you, I'm using a new needle, nice and sharp, and sterile to boot. So no need to worry about anything." Guest caressed my inner arm with the alcohol swab, cleaning it.

"I'll be gentle. You'll feel nothing more than a little prick. And I promise, your arms won't look anything like Cheri's when I'm finished," Guest reassured me.

I couldn't stop myself from looking curiously at Cheri. I had noticed nothing odd about her arms and I wondered what the long sleeves of her dress were hiding.

Guest followed my gaze. "Have you never seen the arms of an addict, Captain?"

I shook my head. I had not.

"Darling, show him your arms."

Cheri slowly walked over and reluctantly exposed her arms. They were horrific, a mass of scars and open sores. Now, I understood why despite the heat she wore her sleeves long. It was an awful thing, and a small part of me went out to her, despite her role in my capture.

"The first time you have heroin is always the best. There's no breaking in period, nothing to get used to. Although, sadly, it's never quite as good afterwards. But that won't stop you from chasing that first high. The only negative is that you will probably be a bit nauseous the first time."

I looked at Guest quickly. His use of the word 'first' strongly implied I would be given the opiate more than once. The thought of that worried me. I would have no option or ability to escape if I was incapacitated continually with drugs. But then, I realized, that was likely part of his plan.

"Oh how I envy you! Do you remember your first time with a woman, Captain? How it changed your life? How amazing? How intense? Pleasure that one would could never replicate by any other method?"

I didn't answer Guest, though, of course I remembered my first time. Her name was Elsa and she was an Austrian acquaintance of my mother's. I was barely fifteen that hot summer when she arrived to visit, a visit that went longer than the weekend that she had originally scheduled.

Elsa seduced me one afternoon in the hayloft of the stables. Although, I remembered with a grin, it did not take much persuasion. Except for a few tentative kisses with girls my own age, I had never touched a girl, let alone have a mature woman offer sex.

My hands had fumbled when I had undressed Elsa. She was a handsome woman for her age, a few years older than my mother. I would always remember the beauty of her body as she lay against the hay. It was the first time I had seen a woman unclothed. In turn, it was also the first time I was seen nude by a woman. The experience with her, as brief as it was, was more pleasurable than I could possibly imagine. So pleasurable that it was almost painful.

I was with her several times over the next few years, experiencing her along with other various women I met. I visited her up until the time I was readying to depart for the Academy. It was then that I learned "estranged" and "divorced" had serious different meanings. I immediately severed the relationship with her, feeling betrayed and used. In hindsight, I realized that I had used her just as much, if not more, than she had used me, to learn about sex.

The realization of what sex with a woman could be had changed my life. I wanted to recapture that intensity again and again.

More times than I cared to recall, the desire to have a woman had become an almost single minded pursuit, derailing me to distraction. That pursuit had sometimes made me dangerous and reckless, far more so than I would have ever allowed myself to be in the pursuit of victory on the battlefield. And if I was perfectly frank with myself, sex had led me to where I sat now: Bleeding in front of Guest.

A thought formed, a realization which I had never had. Perhaps nicotine was not the only thing to which I was addicted.

"This will be better than sex," Guest said

I found his proclamation difficult to believe. I couldn't resist taking a jab at him. "Apparently, you must not have had much of a sex life, Guest."

"I have a wonderful sex life. With both men and women, thank you very much. Does that shock you, Captain?" Guest's eyes flicked to my bare chest and then up again. "I would be happy to tell you all about it, sometime. Perhaps show you?"

I could not hide my distaste and the faint blush that rose at Guest's words.

"No, then? You aren't shocked, Captain? A man of the world like you?" Guest laughed. "I forbid myself no pleasure in that arena and sample every delight. Regularly, I assure you. I would highly recommend the same approach to everyone."

I thought back to Guest caressing my face earlier that afternoon. Never mind the effects of the heroin, I thought, the idea of forced intimacy with Guest was more than enough to make me nauseous.

Still watching my face, Guest chuckled and touched my cheek again as if he could read my mind. "Don't worry, Captain. While it would be my delight to introduce you to yet another physical pleasure of a kind which you've never known, I won't take advantage of you in your weakened state. Even as much as I'm tempted by your dark good looks, your virtue is safe with me." Guest gave me a sly look. "Unless, of course, you were to ask me to take your virginity."

"And let me guess," I said, not able to stop myself before the words left my mouth, "just like with the heroin, all that I would feel in the process is a little prick?"

It took Guest a moment to process my insult. Instead of being angry, he laughed heartily. "Such a wit, you are Captain. You know, you just may be my type."

"I can assure you that you're not mine, Guest. I will never be even remotely interested," I said with disgust.

"You say that now, Captain. But the heroin will lower your inhibitions and open your mind. Eventually, you'll be willing to try or do anything," he said with a smile, his eyes lingering on my mouth. "Oh, how I look forward to that. Oh, how I really do."

I was looking forward to murdering Guest, I thought. Oh, how I really was.

"I'm giving you my best supply as a special treat," Guest continued. It's what I would use for myself. It's not the cheap trash that I sell upstairs to the locals and visiting soldiers. All you need to do is sit back, relax and enjoy. I will do all the work for you."

"I find you despicable, Guest. I look forward to killing you before I leave here."

The smile quickly faded from his eyes. "And I'm going to relish seeing you, a powerful and proud man, reduced to groveling before me. Begging me. If you haven't already realized it, you will not be leaving. I will be the one having the pleasure of killing you and Sergeant Troy. But only after I've finished enjoying myself with you."

"Mark my words, Guest. I am telling you that when I leave here, I will leave you dead. I am a man who stands behind my word. Now get on with it."

As Tristan handed Guest the syringe, I knew my eyes showed the cold fury I felt within. I locked eyes with Guest. He almost immediately looked away and turned his attention to my arm.

Guest gently grasped my forearm. So well had he prepared me, I barely felt the prick of the needle as it slid into the vein. I couldn't prevent myself from looking down to watch if only for a brief moment as Guest debauched me.

He was expertly holding the syringe at a slight angle, barely touching my arm. Only a slight drop of blood rose up on my skin where it was penetrated. There would only be a faint, if any, mark left when he was finished. No one would be any the wiser at what had happened that night but those who had witnessed it.

Contents expelled of the syringe, Guest removed it and gently wiped away the dot of blood that had risen with a clean cloth.

I felt the slow and gentle flush of fluid as it entered the vein, but nothing else. I waited for the feelings that Guest had described to come. Just as I had concluded that either he had been lying to me or that I was immune due to my superior will power, suddenly, I felt it. Like waves crashing through a barrier, the unexpected rush of euphoria and pleasure coursed through me.

My arms and legs began to feel heavy as the seconds (or was it minutes, or possibly even hours?) passed. I began to feel very drowsy, my head so heavy I could barely hold it up. Yet, I had no desire to sleep. To sleep would mean missing the incredible sensation I was experiencing for the first time.

Suddenly, a feeling of nausea rose up within me, derailing the culmination of my pleasure. Guest was already waiting with a bucket, into which I vomited what little I had remaining in my stomach. He took the cloth and lightly wiped my mouth, cupping my chin briefly for a moment. He leaned down, his breath warm on my face.

For a brief second I thought he was going to kiss me. I was too focused on the delicious feeling that was once again spreading through my body to even want to pull away. He eventually released me.

From what seemed a far distance, I could hear Guest order his men to untie me and remove me to a different room.

Unbound, I attempted to walk, but my legs had become leaden and it was too difficult for me to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Tristan and Nassir supported me as I staggered along, to what I assumed would be my cell for the evening. When they released me, I was vaguely aware of collapsing onto my back. I knew that I should be screaming in agony as my ravaged flesh made contact with the hard surface, but I felt nothing but the effects of the heroin.

I stared up at the ceiling, the room dimming around me. I cared about nothing in the least. For the first time in four years I felt liberated. I had finally escaped the war and all of its obligations. I had no fear of being killed, no thought of killing the enemy. There was no need to protect my men from imminent death or to will myself to follow irrelevant orders. I casually placed Germany aside along with my officer's oath and everything which accompanied it.

Though I was physically being held prisoner, ironically, I felt free for the first time in my life. I could not care about my family nor their fates. I was not troubled with concerns for my men, nor what would become of Germany after the war, not about my controlling father and his demands and expectations and certainly, I could not care about what mayhem the devilish Rat Patrol was going to cause next.

I put aside thinking of all others. For once, they could all take care of themselves, without me. I was too busy enjoying the heavenly feeling coursing through my body.

Anything could have been done to me and I would not have protested. My pride was gone, as was apparently everything with it that had made me the man that I was.

When I realized that, I had no problem admitting that Guest was correct.

The heroin was better than sex. Even better than the sex that I had enjoyed with Irene during our final night together.


	5. Chapter 4

I awoke to what I assumed was the next day. I was very groggy and unbelievably thirsty. It was an effort for me to open my eyes and when I did, the room was literally spinning around me. I found myself on a rickety metal cot cushioned only by a threadbare straw mattress. I was lying prone on it, despite the excruciating pain that radiated from my back.

I slowly rolled onto my side to relieve the pressure. I had to bite my lip to prevent myself from crying out. My festering wounds had stuck to the mattress during the night and I had reopened them when I had moved. Nearby, I could hear Troy already screaming.

As first I thought my drug experience a dream, a fever induced hallucination. Then, I looked closely at my arm and saw the faint needle mark. I immediately remembered the feelings of pleasure I had enjoyed from the heroin. A feeling of shame and disgust arose at my weakness. Having heroin forcibly injected was one thing. Having enjoyed it was something entirely different.

It was, I thought, almost akin to being forced to admit that one had enjoyed a rape. If there was anything more debasing than that, I could not think of what it would be.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the shame and regret wash over me. I obviously was not the man that I had thought that I was. If I had been, I wouldn't have enjoyed the experience so. Or, I would have prevented it entirely. My father would have pronounced the entire situation my fault. I couldn't argue that he would have been correct in assessment. I, who had been so quick to judge others, couldn't escape the judgement that I deserved. I continued to berate myself until I realized that dwelling on my current situation alone was not doing anything to change it.

I opened my eyes again and I forced my vision to focus and my brain to clear. I needed to escape and I needed to do it quickly. Neither Troy nor I would be able to withstand many more days of torture. Nor, was I going to let Guest have any additional opportunity to take advantage of me.

Gradually regained my senses, I inspected my cell for an avenue of escape. The room was small, not much larger than the cot on which I rested and it appeared to be in a basement. The only entrance was the door, with a small covered window to spy upon the cell's occupant. There was a narrow window near the ceiling, too small for me to fit through even if I could have reached it. Occasionally, I could hear muffled street sounds from the outside.

I speculated Guest's operation was located in a side alley, away from the main area of the town. Guest would probably not want to call any attention to his business, the daytime or nighttime activities, to minimize paying bribes to the local officials.

I staggered to the door, nearly falling down. I tentatively tried the door, but unsurprisingly, it was bolted from the outside. I spotted a pitcher of water on the ground. I was nauseous and had no desire for food, but I desperately needed the water. I considered if Guest had drugged the water, but I doubted it. He would want me alert to provide lucid information. Despite my thirst, I forced myself to slowly sip the water, knowing that it would cause me more harm if I quickly consumed it.

Having drank my fill, I returned to the cot to think. As I sat there, I couldn't stop scratching my skin. The room must have been infested with fleas, I thought, as my fingernails dug at my flesh. It was odd, I thought, that I was unable to see any of bite marks from the insects.

I sat there like that for some time. Gradually, I heard Troy's screams lessen and finally cease. I knew it would not be long before Guest focused his attention to me.

As I had anticipated, a few minutes later, I heard the bolt to my cell slide back. Tristan and Nasir appeared and forcibly removed me from my cell, returning me to the same room from yesterday. I was again tied to a chair. Soon, Guest appeared. His appearance was dapper and his mood was cheerful.

He greeted as if I was special guest at a social event he was hosting.

"Good morning, my dear Captain! Are you refreshed and relaxed? Did you enjoy your special treat?" He gave me a knowing wink.

I could feel my eyes narrow at him.

He noticed my glare and gave a short laugh. "You would rather die than admit it, but I know that you enjoyed it. I could tell. That look of intense pleasure. I've seen it too frequently in other men to mistake it. I told you that you would like it, didn't I?"

I spat at him, only narrowly missing his shoes. "You may go to the Devil, Guest."

"Very strong words coming from a man in your position, Captain. And you aren't being very grateful." Guest looked hurt. "I give you the experience of a lifetime, something you wanted . . . and needed."

"Grateful?" I asked incredulously. The man had tortured me and then drugged me against my will. For what did I have to be grateful? "Something that I wanted? I wanted none of it."

"Oh, come now! I have initiated you into a whole new world."

It was not a world of which I wanted any part. I shook my head.

"I'm warning you, Guest. Release us. It is only a matter of time before I escape."

"You keep talking about escaping! Your response is little different than Sergeant Troy's. Wouldn't you know, even after we administered the drug to him, the fool actually tried to escape from here? Didn't get far, mind you."

I couldn't help but to laugh out loud, taking pleasure in the fact that someone else was having as much trouble with Troy as I had had. Even if it was Guest. "Finally! Someone who understands my difficulties with the man!"

"Captain, trust me, I completely understand," Guest said agreeably. "There is something very annoying about Sergeant Troy's 'persistence.' It must have been very hard, not to mention embarrassing, for you to continue explaining his escapes."

I smiled. "Your words, Guest, are an understatement."

"After a long day of locking horns with Troy, you probably wished for something more to take away the stress. I am sure that you needed something more than cigarettes, liquor or women. And now, you've found what you've been needing all along. And I gave it to you."

Troy may have made me want to do many things out of sheer frustration, but using drugs had never been one of them. "I want nothing you have to give. The only want and need that I have had since I first encountered Sergeant Troy is to end his Rat Patrol's continued destruction against Germany."

"Well, Sergeant Troy's wave of destruction certainly has ceased, at least for the moment." Guest looked thoughtful. "Did I misread this whole thing? Are you and Troy not really partners?" he mused.

"We have been known to work together when it was mutually beneficial. But we have not been, nor ever will be partners, Guest."

"Not even for all of the Nazi gold?" Guest studied my face. "You appear to have quite a bit of frustration built up towards Troy, eh, Captain? What with all your men that he has killed? Not to mention the embarrassment that he has caused you? Perhaps you would like to participate in his interrogation?"

I looked at Guest with surprised distaste. His ridiculous suggestion appalled me. I respected Troy as a fellow warrior.

"Never would I participate in such an act."

"Never is a very long time. And in my experience, it usually ends up being a very short time." Guest shrugged. "Well, let me know if you change your mind."

I didn't bother to answer. I was finished talking. I had already said more to Guest than I had intended.

"Cat's got your tongue again, I see. Ah well. Obviously, we will need to begin working on you again shortly to reverse your silence." Guest came closer and leaned in. "You could save me a tremendous effort and yourself severe pain if you would provide me the gold's location now."

I merely shook my head. Guest was nothing more than a greedy fool. There was nothing else that I could say or do to convince him that anything that he was doing was for naught.

"Then it is as you wish. Your choice, Captain, not mine. You are too loyal. Do you honestly believe that the Nazi brass cares about what is happening to you at this moment? The pain you are enduring by protecting the gold?" Guest motioned to Tristan and Nasir and my torture began again.

Even though it was only the second day, I knew I could not last much longer.

At times, Guest would have the flogging ceased and become almost friendly. He would pull a chair close to where I was shackled and begin talking as if we had known each other for years. Inevitably, he would steer the conversation over to Troy.

"Tell me, Captain, how long have you known Sergeant Troy?"

"I do not know Sergeant Troy."

"Come, come now! You wouldn't say you know him or were on friendly terms as many times as you've held him prisoner?"

"Not in the least. I would hardly count him among my circle of friends."

"When did you first encounter Sergeant Troy?"

I shrugged.

"Was it before or after Jufra?"

"Not too long after Jufra. I received my orders regarding the Rat Patrol shortly before I went home on leave to convalescence."

"So you've known him for over a year?"

"More or less. What difference does it make?" I was becoming annoyed and frustrated over his incessant questions regarding Troy.

"It makes a huge difference. The longer you two knew each other the longer you two had to scheme. You certainly had enough interactions with him to do so. When exactly did the two of you begin conspiring to hide the gold?"

I looked at him incredulously. "How many times do I need to tell you? There is no gold."

Guest shook his head in response. "Tristan we need to apply more pressure to the Captain to loosen him up. Please continue."

The days became a vicious cycle, agonizing pain giving way to delicious drugged pleasure afterwards. It wasn't long before the torture became almost worth enduring for the gratification that I knew that I would receive afterwards.

Soon, I lost track of time. I could only estimate that three to five days had elapsed since I had been captured. On one of the days, I was kept constantly sedated throughout the day and evening. I suspected something was occurring and that it was necessary to ensure my silence. I heard nothing from Troy so I believed he was also heavily sedated. Or, that he was dead.

It was actually a very pleasant day. There was no pain, only continuous pleasure. It was the first day that I could remember since before the war where I had no responsibilities or cares. I had not experienced such relaxation even when I was on leave.

When the effects of the heroin began to wear off, Guest would re-inject me, bringing me back up to the height of pleasure before it ebbed and he repeated the entire process.

I was forced to admit that the man was truly an expert in narcotics. He knew exactly when to administer the drug for maximum benefit, but also when to withhold it to achieve what he desired.

I vaguely imagined hearing the sounds of German Kubelwagons and American Jeeps outside the window. Possibly, my men were searching for me, or, the Rat Patrol was seeking Troy. Probably the latter, I decided. The Afrika Korps would not waste resources to search for an inconsequential missing Hauptmann when surrender was imminent.

I had already become a statistic in the journal of war.


	6. Chapter 5

I strongly suspected, though I refused to admit, I was quickly becoming a heroin addict.

I no longer pulled away when Guest approached me with his wooden box and the wonders contained within it. At first, I had looked away when Guest injected me. As my pleasurable initiation into the world of drugs continued and expanded, I openly watched him. There was something morbidly fascinating in the way that the needle slid smoothly under my skin, disappearing, and then withdrawing, leaving just the barest pinprick of blood behind.

And, just as Guest had promised me, I was beginning not to care about my reality or what I had to endure to receive the drugs. I was becoming willing to endure it all, looking forward to my only avenue of escape from my situation.

Usually, Guest performed the injection soon after Tristan ceased torturing me. Today, he simply placed the filled syringe on the table, plainly in my sight.

"You no longer protest receiving heroin from me, Captain. It took less time than I anticipated for you to become addicted to it. Though, I'm not surprised. You are one of those impeccable perfectionists who would not allow himself to make even one minor mistake."

"Yes, yes," I thought, wanting less of his talking and more of the drug. I had already heard Guest's speech, and previously, I had railed against it. Now, what had once so offended me, I could hardly care about. All I could find about which to care was lying on the table.

So close, but yet, so very far away from me.

It was all I could do not to lick my lips. I did not think I had ever wanted anything more.

"God forbid you should be anything less than perfect, Captain," Guest continued. "What would your family, especially your father, say regarding your blossoming love affair with heroin?"

I knew exactly what my father would say. He would pronounce me as weak. My mother would believe that she had failed as a parent. My sister would have been mystified and mortified. I found that none of it mattered.

"If I could hazard a guess, you've probably needed something like drugs to help you cope with life since you were a young child. Something to make you feel human, something you could control when you felt you could control nothing else, something allowing you relief from the constant requirements of proving your worth as a man. Something to make your life your own."

I swallowed my pride, knowing I was about to admit my own defeat. "Perhaps you are right, Guest."

"I am." Guest gave an exaggerated sigh. "Unfortunately, I can no longer supply you with such high-quality drugs unless you provide me something in return. Even Cheri earns her keep, one way or another. After all, if I was this generous to all my customers I would soon be out of business. Despite what you might think of me, Captain, I _am_ a businessman. I need to turn a profit. Tell me what I want to know," he said seductively as a lover, "and then I will give you all the pleasures you are seeking."

I remained silent, my attention only on the syringe. Guest noticed my fixation.

"Such a narrow focus, Captain, when there are so many other pleasures to be had."

What other pleasures could there be? I was uninterested in them.

"Perhaps you need some additional encouragement, Captain."

I slumped down against my bindings. I would not survive the continued torture much longer.

Guest placed his hand on my knee. The gesture, while gentle, was anything but innocent.

Unaccustomed fear seized me as his fingers deliberately crawled upwards. Barely breathing, I waited for him to stop. Surely, this was no more than another one of Guest's sick and twisted games.

But even as I said it to myself, I knew that wasn't it at all.

The agonizingly slow creep continued until it could go no further, stopped by the juncture of my legs. Breath, I reminded myself, breath. Now in my crotch, Guest lightly rubbed at me through the thin fabric of my trousers, as if assessing what he might find underneath.

Guest reached for my trousers to undo them. I found an inner strength and began frantically struggling, fighting against this new, anticipated cruelty. I brought my knee up sharply, catching Guest under the chin, sending him sprawling. He picked himself up, cursing under his breath. He backhanded me hard twice, knocking the remaining strength from me. I ceased fighting.

Guest stood over me, breathing heavily, wiping the blood from his mouth. He quickly regained his decorum.

"Why do you always associate me with pain instead of pleasure, Captain? Have you forgotten that I was the one to personally administer heroin to you every evening after Tristan tortured you?" The fake compassion left his face to be replaced by a hard determination.

"Now, let's resume."

As if to calm and reassure me, he returned to caressing me. A few, very long minutes later, he quickly undid my trousers, eagerly parting them, impatiently pulling them open.

The lasciviousness on his face as he exposed me was something which will haunt my nightmares forever.

"So luscious!" he murmured.

I closed my eyes, trying to distance myself.

At first his touch was unthreatening, nothing more than the simple sketching of fingers along flesh. Nothing unfamiliar, nothing I hadn't felt at my own hands, and certainly nothing I hadn't felt at those of a woman.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I was nearly successful at convincing myself of it. However, encouraged by my lack of response, Guest decided to increase his efforts. Against my better judgement, masochistically, I opened my eyes.

Guest's hand was to his mouth. The obscenity of his pink tongue snaked out over and over again, coating his fingers with the slime of his saliva. When they were well prepared, he applied them to me.

Slowly and expertly, the fondling began in earnest.

I struggled, attempting to pull back from his touch, but I was still bound tightly to the chair and the effort was useless. As I demonstrated my helplessness the light touch slowly started to escalate, increasing its intensity, rhythm and focus.

"Shush, Hans!" Guest said, as if calming a distraught maiden who was facing her first seduction. "Why ever would you want to fight against me? Or, against something so beautiful?"

I struggled again, with no results, but to aggravate the wounds on my back. Soon, I stopped. Instead, I willed myself still with the hopes he'd soon grow bored with his latest perversion, while still rewarding my complicity.

After all, it was the heroin I truly desired, not this. If it didn't go too far, I could endure it. Playing along might mean I'd get what I wanted in the end.

Even if the present was nearly making me vomit with revulsion.

If anything, my resistance seemed to be intensifying Guest's desire.

"Why, it's only sex! It's just the delivery that's different, that's all." Guest's voice was soft and perfectly reasonable, even as he said entirely unreasonable things. "You know, if you give it a chance, you may even find you enjoy it more. I'm not ashamed to tell you, I do."

As Guest made more of his darkest desires known, I knew I was completely at his mercy. It was a difficult realization to face, but one firmly underscored by my total inability to stop what he was doing.

Ironically, the idea of being tied and helpless during sex had been appealing to me in the past. Indeed, I had paid for the privilege while in Paris, and more than once. If my opponent in this game had instead been a woman, I imagined I would be enjoying myself.

Perhaps, even another man. . .

"I'll even do all the work, Guest promised. "All you need to do is sit back and enjoy the ride."

Inevitably, after enough stimulation, I began responding to Guest. Instinctually, he seemed to know exactly what I liked. Knowing exactly how to manipulate me, he was quickly showing he was better at pleasuring me than any woman I had ever known.

But then, why shouldn't he be? Guest had an advantage no woman, no matter how practiced or skilled, would truly ever have. He was fully versed in the carnal desires and the response of men to them. Because, of course, he himself was a man. The idea of it was enough to turn even the headiest of pleasure into something unwelcome.

Keeping one hand still engaged, the other reached up to caress a nipple. He proceeded to tweak it and gently pinch it before moving unto the other one. Leaning over, he gently took it into his mouth, his tongue dancing across it, the edge of his teeth teasing the nub until it hardened. Lifting his lips, he blew a stream of air across the erect tissue. Sensations, hot and cold, shot down like arrows to where his other hand still moved.

I gasped and twitched.

"Stop," I pleaded, my voice hoarse. "I want you to stop."

Guest paused for a moment, breaking all contact with me as he considered my plea. Unbidden, my hips lifted themselves from the chair, my base instincts seeking out the continued connection.

"I don't believe you want me to stop in the least, Captain," Guest said. "Tristan, do you think the good captain wants me to stop?"

Tristan was leaning against the wall, examining his nails, bored with the proceedings. He glanced over as Guest began stroking me once again.

As if wishing to make his point irrefutable, Guest wrapped his fingers around me, gently pushing, slightly twisting, exposing the red smooth skin of the glans to shine moistly in the light. His hand then moved upwards in one smooth stroke, hooding me once again. Deliberately, Guest repeated the action, once, and then again and again, until I moaned. His other hand worked the shaft below in the same leisurely rhythm.

"Yes, Mr. Guest, I would agree with you. That 'No, No, some more!' routine is the same one you hear from a woman when she wants nothing more than a good rogering but is too proper to admit it." My eyes slipped open at his comments. Tristan's eyes came to rest on the true evidence of his words. "After all, it's _very_ obvious the captain is enjoying your attention. It certainly looks like he wants you to continue. No matter what he might be saying."

I closed my eyes to shut out them out, but the unwanted pleasure I was receiving remained. I supposed it could be worse. As mortified as I was at the idea of another man witnessing my degradation, at least I could be thankful there was a wall separating me from Troy.

One final time, my disgust attempted to war with my desire, But, just as Tristan had observed, the winner was clear. With a sigh, I gradually relaxed against my bonds.

The stroking continued tirelessly: Pleasurable, constant, and insistent. With skill and even care, Guest had been pushing me, pulling me, guiding me to exactly where he wanted me.

Unpredictably, Guest stopped. I squirmed, restless, wondering if he had lost interest.

Instead, his hands moved to gently part my thighs. In a moment, he was between them. I felt the unmistakable touch of an exploring tongue. The whisper soft licking progressed to suckling. Soon, from root to tip, I was fully held in the unimaginable embrace of Guest's mouth. A soft, warm delicately textured thing, Guest's mouth had become an instrument of gratification, its only purpose to deliver pleasure to me. His lips held me while his tongue lavished me with swirling caresses.

The moans which were escaping me were now unavoidable.

Unbidden, I spread my thighs farther, allowing his roving hands better access.

He worked me for a few minutes, slowly and deliciously, before he pulled away with a soft moist sound.

I whimpered at the desertion.

"You really are enjoying your little 'French' lesson, aren't you? But then, what man wouldn't?" Guest chuckled. "Tell me the truth, Captain, and shame the devil: Do you really want me to stop?"

If Guest had stayed quiet, or if I had managed to keep my eyes closed, or if my imagination had been better . . . I could have easily convinced myself it had been a woman who was pleasuring me. As it was, I couldn't. I couldn't deny any of it.

And, I found I no longer cared.

"God, no!" I had not hesitated before answering. My voice was husky, my arousal beyond denial. Moments before, if my hands had been free, I would have pushed Guest away. Now I would have intertwined them in his hair, guiding his actions, pushing him down, burying his face firmly and irrevocably between my thighs.

"Captain, I want you to always remember that I was the one who introduced you to being pleasured by a man. This is your first time, isn't it?"

I swallowed and nodded, admitting my inexperience.

"Ah! I thought so. I am honored. You will always remember me as your first, no matter what or who may come afterwards."

To my great relief, Guest stopped talking and again put his mouth to better use. Renewing his clever manipulations, he threatened to swallow me whole. My head thrown back, my labored breathing was punctuated by sharp gasps. I was helpless against the sensation the likes of which I had never quite felt before.

Surprising as I considered myself a connoisseur of sex. My erotic appetite voracious, I had tried nearly everything which I thought could bring me pleasure. But, for all my experiences, a man had never been one of them. Though, it wasn't an entirely unfamiliar idea.

I had found the shows in the pre-war Berlin cabarets titillating and I had listened with great interest to the stories of two friends who sometimes generously shared a woman, and then, sometimes, even more between them. During the war, I had heard tales of men, when there had been no other option, giving in to each other and receiving mind blowing pleasure as a result.

Admittedly, I had been curious. However, I had never seriously entertained the idea of it.

Until now.

In a perverse way, Guest's complete domination over me during the most intimate of sex acts was exciting and fulfilling, different than what I had been forced to pay for in Paris. I looked down. Guest looked up, his eyes locked with mine.

There was no denying it. I desperately wanted what Guest was doing to me as much as I had ever wanted it from any woman.

Perhaps, even more.

Every inch of me achingly sensitive, it was nearly becoming too much. I knew without a doubt I was almost there. Eyes closed with concentration, I attempted to prolong the pleasurable pain. Guest obligingly slowed his tempo and decreased his suction, doing what he could to help draw out the upcoming orgasm. One hand gently tugged my tightening balls while the fingers of the other pressed insistently right behind them.

"You're ready, aren't you?"

I licked dry lips. "Yes. . ."

"This is what you want then from me, is it?"

"God yes. . ."

"Yes, what? Tell me! I want to hear you say it. What do you want?"

"Yes," I said again, deeply moaning as I sold my body and soul to Guest. "Finish me! God in heaven, make me cum!" As if through admission I was giving myself permission, just saying the words was increasing my pleasure.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Now, I want to hear how much you're enjoying me!"

As Guest skillfully took me past the point of no return, there would be no denying it. The intensity, the focus, the varying pressure, one sensation layered onto another until I could not tell where one stroke ended and the other began, everything melding into the delicious tension which tightened my abdomen, the muscles of my thighs, and centralized in my pelvis. I could no longer prevent my body from reacting exactly as Guest wanted.

I arched off the chair, the tension ending in release as I strained against my bonds. The contractions hit and primal guttural noises echoed off the stone walls. I came hard, the culmination of my pleasure bursting forth like a deluge into Guest's eagerly awaiting mouth.

On and on, it seemed to continue. Through it all, Guest obligingly kept up the connection. His lips glued to me, he greedily swallowed all I had to offer. When the contact was finally broken, it was with a light lick of the head and a kiss, as he captured the last remaining drops of my desire, savoring them.

The air sucked the heat from my wet skin and I felt alone, strangely bereft. I could not remember such an intensity of pleasure with any woman, not even Irene. Perhaps, the gut-wrenching power had been caused by the sinfulness of the act, the pleasure as forbidden as the apple which had tempted Adam. Though, I suspected it may have also been increased by the knowledge someone, especially another man, had witnessed my debasement.

Having given in to my desire, just like the heroin, I feared I would want it again and again. Next time, I knew Guest would expect reciprocity. Even that was not enough to spoil the afterglow.

I relaxed against my bindings, my heart slowing, my breathing regulating, and my body softening. Still, I savored the ebb and flow of the pleasure as it retreated.

For the several minutes it took for me to come back to myself, Guest allowed me to enjoy my fading bliss without interruption. And blessedly, without reminder that it was he who had bestowed it. A lassitude which I normally did not feel after the act with a woman had overcome me.

He then took his handkerchief and sensually dried me before wiping his mouth. Folding it neatly, Guest tucked the handkerchief it into my trouser pocket. "A souvenir from me, as a reminder of your first time," he said with a wink.

He refastened my trousers. Smoothing the fabric, his fingers lightly bestowed one final caress, a reminder of the power they had demonstrated against me.

As would be expected from one so victorious, there was a look of triumph was on his face.

"Remember it was I who freed you from your bindings, Hans. And, I alone. Now, you have crossed your last boundary. You're a free man, truly. Free of your father, free of society's constraints. It's like you've been reborn, salvation is yours."

I felt salvation was unlikely. Instead, I suspected I had just secured my place in Hell.

"Tomorrow, after we retrieve the gold," Guest continued, "I'll make love to you properly, upstairs in my bed. I'll spend the day introducing you to pleasures even more delectable than the one you just experienced. I will become your lover, you father. Your life."

Guest picked up the syringe. He gently stroked the needle against my skin my arm. I felt my craving for the drug rising, the beginning of a new seduction.

"Hans, there's nothing like heroin after good sex to help one float away into sleep."

Guest winked at me and picked up the syringe. There was the delightful prick as he inserted the needle into a vein. I relaxed, closing my eyes, expecting the euphoria of the drug to enhance the one I was currently experiencing. I waited for him to push the plunger.

Nothing happened.

I slowly opened my eyes, puzzled. He removed the syringe and replaced it on the table. A small bead of blood appeared on my skin.

"Tell me what I want to know, and you may have it. You've come this far. There is no reason for you to stop. I want to continue pleasuring you now and forever." Guest had given me one pleasure. Now he was promising me the second. His hand knotted in my hair and he pulled back my head. He kissed me deeply.

I could taste myself in his mouth.

Horror seized me and the shame of it all threatened to drown me. I would maintain to my dying day, I had not wanted it from him. I had not invited it, I had not encouraged it, and in the end, I had been a victim. But all of that aside, how could I have enjoyed it? What had I allowed to be done to me? What had I desired for another man to do to me? It was abnormal, wrong and immoral. I was not that type of man.

Or, was I?

Suddenly, I was fearful Troy had heard, my final cries of animalistic and illicit pleasure. Did he know what I had allowed? Did he know in the final minutes of my degradation, I would have given anything to live it again? I already knew what Troy would think. I could not fault him for his opinion. That of any other decent man would have been the same.

I made an immediate vow to never tell anyone about what had happened. This was a one-time event. Beyond my control, beyond all reason, it had merely been yet another form of torture at the hands of a man mad with greed. Never would I ever again indulge in such deviant behavior.

Especially not in exchange for heroin.

I could already feel my body rapidly becoming edgy, seeking the second release Guest was promising me.

I deeply desired, and was beginning to desperately need, the opiate.

My mind began to turn. What did it matter if I fabricated a story regarding Troy and the Rat Patrol hiding the gold? I could easily lie to Guest that I had provided the gold to Troy and that he had betrayed me by changing its hiding place without my knowledge.

The story would provide me time to determine a means to escape, I reasoned. If Troy was collateral damage, so be it. My orders for the last fourteen months had been to cease his operations and the resulting harassment of the Afrika Korps. Well, wouldn't betraying Troy and allowing Guest to deal with him be the equivalent of finally carrying out my orders?

I owed Troy nothing. If anything, he owed me for the lives of all the men under my command whose deaths that he had caused. He owed me for each time I had narrowly escaped intense questioning by the Gestapo due to the belief I must be in collusion with him.

Each time that I had escaped their inquisition without penalty, I had darkly suspected that my father had had a hand in saving me during these occurrences. It had increased my resentment of my father. It had made me despise Troy even more.

When would it end, if I did not end it now?

I was tired of being the perfect son and of being the perfect soldier. And I was more than tired of being constantly bested by Troy. Didn't I deserve something for myself? Why should I begin to feel the pain of withdrawal symptoms when the obvious solution was being held in the next room?

I wavered, looking at Guest and the syringe, my eyes darting between the two. My eyes lingered on the syringe and I made my fateful decision.

"Troy . . ." I began to confess, unable to stop the words from forming. "Sergeant Troy knows . . ." I knew once I had crossed this threshold, I would be unable to stop and never able to return.

"Yes!" Guest exclaimed leaning close to me. I could clearly see the excitement and greed burning in his eyes.

"Tell me what I want to know, Hans," Guest insisted, as "Just tell me, and I promise you that you will have nothing but the pleasure that you so rightly deserve. Oh! What fun that we will have together with everything the gold will buy!"

My lips began to form the words of the confession that would implicate Troy.

I looked at Guest. There was a sly smile on those lips, those same lips which had given me such pleasure only a few minutes before and promised to do so again in the future.

In sudden horror, I realized what I had been about to do. I stopped myself, the words dying on my lips. My lies would surely cause the death of a good man, a man that had fought honorably and bravely against me and the entire Afrika Korps.

A man who was a better man than me. Most certainly, not a man who would have allowed Guest to manipulate him into exposing every base weakness.

I was about to betray Troy as I had already betrayed my self-respect and my honor as a German officer. I could not do it. With a sudden clarity, I looked at Guest. The triumph I felt was far greater than any pleasure Guest could have given me.

"Sergeant Troy knows nothing more than I do. There is no hidden gold."

Guest was very still and he said nothing. I could tell, at that moment, he had realized he had lost any hold that he had had on me forever.

Then, in a sudden rage, Guest screamed and charged at me, sending my flying backwards. He landed on top of me and began pummeling me in the face. Unlike all of that had come before it, this abuse of me by Guest had nothing to do with trying to gain information. This beating was one of rage and frustration.

I tried to shrink away from him, curling up in agony as much as my bindings would allow.

I could hear Tristan quickly approach Guest's side, but he did nothing to stop the beating.

"Mr. Guest, we've tortured him for three days. After what I've done, we're not going to receive any information from him. There's nothing left of his back. It's down to the raw muscle and bone. We've tried withholding the heroin and you've tried seducing him. Either he will never talk, or he never had the information."

"He will talk," Guest screamed, still beating me.

"Trust me, if he knew anything, he would have given it up by now. We can continue, but I believe that we're wasting our time."

Despite the continued blows to my face, I began to laugh. I couldn't help it. The entire situation was so ludicrous. How did I, Hans Erich Dietrich, from one of the most prominent and influential families in Germany end up in such a situation? Heroin addict, catamite, and soon to be dead in some North African village not even listed on a map.

I wouldn't even have the honor of dying in combat and finally making my father proud of me.

"Stop laughing, you idiot!" Guest yelled at me, hitting me hard in the mouth.

Despite all of it, I was unable to stop.

Finally, Guest ceased his attack on me. He stood up, straightening his clothing, apparently beginning to calm down.

I continued to laugh. I would die laughing, and not in the face of death, but instead in the face of the insanity which had quickly become my life.

Guest and Tristan looked at each other.

Tears were running from my eyes as I continued my hysterics.

"Shut up, you Goddamn fucking Kraut!" Guest screamed.

"I think that he's finally gone mad." Tristan shook his head. "I suppose that he could be faking to end the torture."

"No, I don't think so. I agree, he's probably gone insane. What a shame for such an intelligent soldier." Guest sighed and began to wipe my blood from his hands. "I won't get any information from him now about the gold, if it even existed. I'm starting to believe Willy pulled the wool over my eyes, just as he did to the Captain and to Sergeant Troy."

"A lot of work for nothing, then," Tristan pronounced.

Hands clean, Guest adjusted his cuffs and collar and smoothed back his hair. "Well, I suppose that's it, isn't it?" Obviously, it was time for Guest to cut his losses. One of which, I knew, would be me.

"What do you want done with him?" asked Tristan.

"Kill the captain along with the sergeant. We've had no better luck with Troy. They're both useless and I want to be rid of them. The longer they're here, the more risk I'm assuming against my main operation."

"Shoot them?"

"No, shooting would make too much of a racket and be too messy. It would be much more efficient to give them both an overdose. They might as well die having a pleasurable experience. I suppose I owe them something after what we've put them through. After all, I'm a decent fellow, if nothing else. I even gave the captain a blow job, didn't I?" Guest chortled. "Who says I don't make dreams come true?"

"But Mr. Guest, if we kill them here and now it won't be long in this heat before their bodies start to decompose. The customers will arrive soon. By the end of the evening they would probably notice the odor, even in their stupors. The authorities will ask questions, no matter how much you've bribed them."

"We'll sedate them tonight and one final time in the morning. Afterwards the job is done, you and Nasir will dump them in the desert. If their bodies are found, no one will think twice of another two dead soldiers out in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I highly doubt either side will miss two soldiers at this point in the war."

"True enough."

"Shame about how everything ended, isn't it?" Guest shook his head sadly, as he contemplated me. "I could have used them both in my operation. The captain would have been great at helping me strategically expand my organization and Troy would have been able to get things done quickly at the street level."

That sent me off into another gale of laughter. The idea of either of us ever helping Guest was ludicrous.

"Sorry it had to end this way, Captain. From everything that I've heard you were a fine soldier and a good man. I really was sincere in my offers, you know." Guest paused a moment and licked his lips. "Nothing would have pleased me more, actually."

I could not laugh at that.

As for Sergeant Troy, he's been a pain in the arse. I will enjoy getting rid of him."

For once I could completely sympathize with Guest.

My return to reality, if not sanity, complete, I looked up at Guest, my eyes cold with fury. "I would rather die with Sergeant Troy than work for you, Guest."

"Then I will grant your wish with pleasure, Captain. My only wish is that I could kill you both more than once. Tristan, hand me the heroin so I can sedate him. I've had enough of him for this evening. And to last me a lifetime."

I did not even resist when Guest approached me with the syringe. I willingly offered him my arm. I wished Guest would just administer me the overdose now. I was ready to end this.

I was ready to die.

I was conscious of being carried back to my room where I was thrown roughly onto the cot. It collapsed when I hit it, throwing me to the floor. I felt no pain, though, and cared little about my situation. Instead, I was beginning to enjoy what was coursing through my body, blocking everything else from my reality. I wanted to focus on it, and only it, for the last time.

The haze of pleasure was beginning to deliciously envelope me when I heard footsteps approaching my cell. The sounds became louder and louder. Actually, it was two sets of steps. The pace was calm, not hurried in the least. I couldn't help but wonder who was now joining my Deadman's party.

I could hear light hearted bantering in English. The men paused briefly before entering my cell. Softly, they closed the door behind them. The steps stopped in front of me.

Though my eyes were bloody and swollen, I could see two pairs of boots, and I was surprised to see they were of British issue.

"Hello, Captain."

I could never forget the insanely cheerful voice. It wasn't necessary for me to look up to confirm its speaker.

"What do you want with me now, Perkins? Can't you see I'm busy?" I responded wearily. I closed my eyes, wanting to enjoy my final night of pleasure without intrusion. I had absolutely no desire to concentrate enough to bring the bedraggled figure into focus.

"Well, there I was, Captain, minding my own business. Lying on a beach, next to a cute blonde. I was just about ready to receive a heavenly experience from her when, wouldn't you know it? I was ordered to come visit you again." Perkins sighed in regret. "And here I am. It's been quite a few months, hasn't it? How time flies when you're having fun! Or have you already forgotten our tete-a-tete a while back?"

"Hardly. I can unfortunately say I will remember it, and you, to my dying day."

"Have a little sympathy for me, won't you, Captain? You've had your blow job, but I missed receiving mine." He shivered. "Would rather have it from the girl on the beach, though, than from Guest. He's most certainly not my type, even if he is a blonde as well."

Normally, I would already begin to feel the full pleasure of the heroin, but not only did the process seem to be sluggish today, it wasn't even as intense as had been just a few moments before. In fact, I realized, it was quickly receding. I was now unable to feel any pleasure whatsoever.

Frustrated, I groaned. "Are you really dead this time, Perkins, or are you a drug induced hallucination? If you are due to heroin of poor quality, then I will request a refund from Guest."

Perkins gave a short laugh before answering.

"Always the comedian, aren't you? Yes, I really am dead this time. I have been officially assigned as your guardian angel. And make no mistake, I am no longer a willing volunteer. God, no! I was ordered to take your case since no one else would touch it. When your name came up again, everyone made themselves scarce. So here I am."

"Lucky me."

"Just to be honest and upfront, I really don't think you're entitled to two intercessions in one lifetime, not to mention in one year. I'm rather tired of saving your sorry ass, Captain. Particularly when it prevents me from completing my business with a beautiful woman."

"My apologies for being a burden," I muttered.

"Burden is right! You're too much of an effort to support, not to mention too ungrateful."

"I still believe I deserve an angel with more status than what little you have to offer," I said, my voice still slightly slurred.

"I told Peter to get a Nazi guardian angel for you, but needless to say, those are few and far between." He pulled a face at me. "Hard to end up in Heaven when you do the Devil's work."

"I am not a Nazi and never have been," I reminded him.

"You're close enough to be considered one. You work for them."

I thought for a moment. "You can't blame me for your death this time, Perkins"

"As a matter of fact I can. Your unit planted the land mine I stepped on."

"That happens in warfare. Men die," I said shrugging. "It's the entire purpose of both landmines and wars. Besides, they were the orders I had been given. I am sure that you understand that I was under some obligation to follow them."

"Oh, not the old 'I was just following orders' line! Surely, you can do better than such a sorry excuse. That won't hold much water after the war, you know."

"The Allies have laid a good share on their own landmines." I was uncertain why I was bothering to debate the necessary cruelties of war with Perkins, but I continued. "It makes sense from a military point of view when there are limited resources and vast territory needs to be defended."

Perkins' voice was sharp without feeling, ignoring my rationale.

"I'm through quibbling with you, Captain, and the lame excuses you continue to offer. I'm only here for a few more minutes. So, I'll get right to the point. Given the tight time schedule, I've brought along a friend of yours to assist me."

"Tell me he's not a Tommy or an Ami. I don't have the strength." I closed my eyes to shut him out. I was becoming irritated with him. I wanted to enjoy the heroin in peace and I strongly suspected Perkins was delaying its onset.

"I'm sure that you'll be happy to see him."

"None of you are my friends. Go back where you came from. Be it heaven or from what I seriously suspect to be Hell. No merciful God would be so uncaring to send such an angel as yourself. I am starting to believe that you must be in actuality the Devil's henchman."

"You would be wrong then," Perkins said. "Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

"Now if you would be so kind, please leave and take your 'friend' with you. I would like my final moments to be pleasurable and without the annoyance of your presence." It was only then the second man finally spoke.

"I must say, Perkins, your Captain doesn't look quite as well as the last time I saw him. Hardly a dress uniform on him, is there? He's not even wearing a blouse or boots, only his trousers. And what a state he is in: Blood everywhere, unshaven, inappropriate trouser stains and he . . . How may I put this delicately? Quite frankly, he smells. Don't care much for his cologne; rather feminine, I do say."

The idea that I smelled like Guest should have disgusted me, but I was beyond caring. I closed my eyes and willed both intruders away.

"Worst of all, I'm almost too much of a gentleman to mention this small but important fact, he has a rapidly increasing dependency. Bluntly put, he is a heroin addict."

I forced my eyes open and looked up at the second man, immediately recognizing his strong English features through my foggy vision. They were as relaxed as when I saw him for the final time. He was impossible to forget.

"Sergeant James Lyon," I whispered, transfixed by him. "I don't understand . . ."

"I am rather disappointed in you, Captain," Lyon said in a condescending voice. "I expected something more from a man who was willing to perform a mercy killing on an enemy combatant after sharing a fag with him. If I had known you were so weak, I never would have bequeathed you my lighter, especially given its value. Now you don't even have it! And to think it was destined to save your life one day."

"How do you think I feel, Lyon?" responded Perkins with a disgusted shake of his head. He kicked my foot with his boot for added emphasis. "After all I did for him, a full day traipsing around the desert to save his sorry soul from wandering the desert for eternity and look how he ends up? I still have blisters on my feet! Thank God I didn't take Adrian up on his bet a second time. I would have hated to have lost a pint to him twice. Once again, the captain does appear to have given up."

I said nothing. As much as it pained me to admit it, Perkins was irritatingly correct. I had given up.

"I would have thought that the good Captain would have escaped by my now. I mean, all he has to do is walk up the stairs and exit through the back door. How difficult could it possibly be? Do we have to show him everything? Draw him a map? Procure him transportation? Chauffeur him to his destination? What a disappointment! We should have worked with Troy instead. He normally is fairly adept at escaping, but he is in such bad shape right now. The poor thing. Troy is a good man. Why wasn't I assigned to be his angel? At least we were fighting on the same side," Perkins complained.

"What do you want from me, Perkins?" I asked him. At this point, I was unsure if our conversation was real or a hallucination, but still I continued to talk. "Haven't you already said enough against me? Have you brought anything to offer me in the way of hope?"

"Actually, I have nothing else to offer you, Captain. You're on your own from this point, and going forward. I've done everything I can for you."

"That's odd," I muttered. "Feels like you've done nothing at all."

Perkins made an exaggerated gesture of looking at his watch.

"Dear me! Look at the time. We'd best be off, Lyon. It's almost time for tea. I already missed my fun with the blonde due to him. I certainly will not miss tea! There is a limit as to what even an angel must endure."

"Too right. Do you think there will be some of those lovely lavender tea cakes today?" asked Lyon. "They were rather delightful when served last week. The best I've had. It truly does pay off in the long run to have gone to heaven. The food has been first rate."

"I don't see why they wouldn't bet on the menu today. You know, Lyon, if we hurry, we should be able to visit the beach before tea. I'll ask the blonde if she has a friend. Do you like redheads? No, I've confused you with the Captain. He has a strong preference for American redheads."

"Jolly good, Perkins. Jolly, jolly, good!" Lyon responded enthusiastically. "A redhead would do quite nicely."

The two men walked to the door, focused on their conversation about tea and inconsequential cakes and phantom women, opting to easily forget about me.

"I'm rather new to this angel thing. Do you think we should leave his cell door open when we leave? Or, at the least, unlocked?" Lyon asked brightly.

"Why should we go through the effort? No, we'll close the door and re-bolt it behind us. The Captain should have to work at least a little to escape. We can't do everything for him!"

"You lousy bastard!" I screamed at Perkins. "Open the goddamn door! At least give me the opportunity to escape." I tried to move, but my body had become leaden and wouldn't cooperate. The heroin's impact was suddenly beginning to manifest itself again once they had announced their departure.

"My, my! I had forgotten what a temper you possess, Captain. The strong words certainly make their appearance when someone pushes you to the wall by speaking the truth. No, you've already been presented with all the tools you need to escape. You'll just need to put them to use to accomplish this small feat on your own. Have a little faith in your own journey."

"You are nothing more than a sorry shit of an angel!"

Perkins wagged his finger at me. "You are only demeaning yourself by your crude words. Obviously, you don't deserve a better angel or you wouldn't have been assigned to me."

I truly believed I deserved better. "You are as worthless in death as you were in life. You didn't have the balls to pull the trigger on Lyon. You left me the unbearable task of performing a mercy killing."

"Always bringing up the past of others to account for your own personal shortcomings," Perkins tsk'd. "You truly did not inherit your paternal family's warrior traits. When are you finally going to be your own man instead of riding on your father's record? I'm positive he would not have become addicted to heroin. **He** would not have allowed another man to Jack his beanstalk. And **HE** would have escaped by now. Finally, your **_FATHER_** wouldn't have any need for assistance from a couple of drug induced hallucinations."

I screamed and cursed at Perkins for the comparison to my father, losing all self-control. If I had been capable, I would have strangled him with my bare hands.

The two men walked out the door, both shaking their heads in disappointment. I heard the door bolt behind them, preventing my escape.

I continued to scream and curse at them after they had left. I could still hear them discussing their goddamn bloody tea menu as they faded away down the corridor. It took several minutes for me to finally begin calming down.

I gradually noticed that there was a sharp metal piece digging into my side. My body was incredibly broken, but I managed to roll aside to relieve the pressure. I reached for it and it easily came loose from what remained of the cot. It was about twenty centimeters long and it probably would do severe damage if handled properly.

The heroin was finally beginning to fully impact me again and I found myself relaxing for my final evening. Before I allowed the drug to engulf me completely, I closed my eyes to pray, confessing my many sins silently, especially the grave sin I had committed with Guest. I asked for forgiveness, and finally, imploring the Almighty for the well-being of my family.

I thanked God for the wonderful life he had given me. I thanked him for my military successes, and especially my success at Jufra. I also gave thanks for my failures which had molded me into a man and then, I prayed for the souls of the numerous men I had killed. I prayed for Ellery, hoping I could ask for his forgiveness in the hereafter for what I had caused him to experience on Earth. I also found myself praying for Perkins and Lyon, for them to have peace and no longer be forced to walk the Earth tormenting lost souls.

The praying relaxed me, and I allowed the heroin to engulf me, not caring what had happened or what would happen next. I now was ready to die.


	7. Chapter 6

I became vaguely aware of a presence in my cell. I sensed Guest kneeling down beside me, shortly before his overpowering cologne reached me. He roughly took my left arm, not even bothering to try and raise a vein with a strap. The procedure would not be necessary for the injection he had planned for me.

Training and instinct seized me.

My eyes snapped open. In an instant, I grabbed Guest by his thick throat with my left hand, immobilizing him. I swiftly brought up the metal slat which was in my right hand, goring him deeply in the side. The make-shift weapon disappeared into soft flesh and muscle until struck bone. I twisted sharply to incur more damage, pushing the metal up past his ribs, and finally sinking it deep into his heart.

Surprised shock at the attack clearly showed on Guest's face. His eyes locked with mine and his grasp tightened on my arm like a vice. And then, it was over. As the life drained from his body, his hold on my arm relaxed. The syringe Guest had been holding and it rolled safely away.

"I promised you I was a man of my word," I whispered to him, wanting him to register my words as the final ones that he would ever hear. I saw a flicker of understanding before the remaining life ebbed from his body and his eyes went completely dead.

I shoved Guest's heavy body aside, not wanting it to touch me. I slowly climbed to my feet, breathing heavily, Guest's cologne and perspiration stench thick in my nostrils. I was cleaning the weapon that I had removed from Guest's side, when I noticed Cheri was present. I immediately turned my attention to her.

I assumed that she had seen the entire thing, but that the quickness with which I had dispatched Guest hadn't given her a chance to cry out. Cheri stood motionless in shock.

In a moment, I was on my feet. I put my hand across her mouth, preventing her from screaming for Tristan and Nasir. I let her feel the kiss of the metal against her throat. "Not a sound," I warned her, "if you want to live."

Cheri nodded mutely.

I remembered what Perkins had casually mentioned about leaving through the back door. Briefly, I wondered if they had actually visited me, or if the vision had been generated by the heroin. I told myself that it hardly mattered now.

I dragged her over to Guest's body. Pulling her to the floor with me, I kneeled down and quickly went through Guest's pockets. I found a set of keys along with Lyon's lighter. I swept up both of them, instantly feeling the lighter's power. I silently cursed Guest again for taking the lighter from me and I was thankful to have recovered it. I vowed that I would not have it taken from me again.

I remembered what Perkins had casually mentioned about leaving through the back door. Briefly, I wondered if they had actually visited me, or if the vision had been generated by the heroin. I told myself that it hardly mattered now.

I got to my feet and yanked Cheri up by her bony arm. "I will be existing through the back door within one minute," I said in a low and menacing voice. "I have already recovered Lyon's lighter. I want three additional items before I leave: My cover, my boots and Sergeant Troy. I will not leave without the three of them. Take me to them immediately."

Cheri didn't move.

"What part of immediately do you not understand? I am quickly running out of patience and time."

Still, Cheri did nothing but look terrified.

I contemplated leaving her but put the thought aside. I had no time to tie her up and I did not want to take the chance she would be able to call out. I brought the bloodied slat up to face. "You are an attractive woman, Madame. When I'm finished with your face, it will look worse than my back. Do I need to ask you a second time?"

She stood there, still staring at me.

"Now!" I told her fiercely, shoving her to get her moving. I quickly finished cleaned the weapon on Guest's shirt before slipping it into my pocket. It might be prove useful again.

Cheri led me to a nearby alcove. I spotted the items I had demanded, laid out as if they were waiting for me. I pulled my boots on quickly and replaced my cover. I noticed Troy's bush hat and on impulse, I took it also.

I saw a bolted door nearby and I instantly knew that Troy was being held behind it. I quickly entered the cell, pulling Cheri along with me. Troy was lying motionless in the corner. He was in horrible shape, even worse than my own. If I hadn't recognized his uniform, I never would have known it was he.

Troy's eyes swollen shut, and his face was a mass of bruises. But it was the sight of Troy's feet that truly turned my stomach. Guest had mentioned he would use bastinado to make Troy talk, but his torture was far worse than anything I had seen before. I had seen the disgusting results of the Gestapo's bastinado work, but that paled in comparison to what Guest had done to Troy. There was clearly no need to drug or bind Troy; it would have been impossible for him to crawl even a short distance.

"Has he already been injected with an overdose?" I asked Cheri.

Cheri merely blinked at me.

"Tell me!" I said shaking her roughly. I found myself increasingly edgy and irritable. I was in no mood for her to defy me.

She stood there staring at me blindly, before slowly shaking her head.

I believed Troy must be dead, but I went to him anyway. I placed my hand to his neck. I was relieved when I was able to detect a faint, very weak pulse under my fingers.

Registering the touch of my hand, Troy stirred and pulled away, curling into a ball.

"Sergeant Troy, it is Captain Dietrich," I quietly reassured him. "I am taking you away from here."

"No, Captain, leave me. Save yourself. I can't make it."

"You're leaving with me, Sergeant. I'm giving you an order."

"I do not recognize you as an officer in my chain of command. You have no authorization to issue me orders.

I sighed. What little that remained of Troy was still presenting a fight against me. I was hardly surprised. "I have the authorization given the circumstances. Now, look to it, Sergeant. We've leaving immediately," I ordered him in a sharp voice.

I quickly pulled Troy up to his feet and heaved him over my shoulder, my back screaming in protest.

A thought suddenly crossed my mind.

"Where is the box?" I asked her.

"What box?" Cheri blinked at me as if dazed.

"The box containing the opiates, you stupid bitch! Is it nearby?" I nearly slapped her. I restrained myself, concerned that Tristan or Nasir might hear the sound and come to investigate.

She shook her head. "No, Stuart or Tristan keeps it with them upstairs. They don't trust me to be around it," she mumbled.

I cursed my bad luck. I told myself that the box and its contents might have proven useful, even though I knew that to be a lie. But regardless of why I needed it, there was no time to retrieve it. We now had little, if any, time remaining to escape. We must leave without it. As much as it frustrated me, I knew that it was for the best.

"Take me to the stairs leading to the back door," I hissed at Cheri. She looked anxious and was trembling. At first, I took it for fear, but then I thought that it might be her need for the drug. She was probably beginning to exhibit withdrawal symptoms. I knew that the further she regressed, the less useful she would be to me.

I shoved her roughly. That seemed to bring her to her senses and Cheri led me to a small side door, which when opened, revealed a narrow flight of stairs leading upwards.

Troy was becoming very heavy and in my weakened state and it was difficult climbing the stairs in the tight quarters. With effort, I managed to make it to the top. I tried the door, only to find it locked. I took the keys from my pocket. Trembling slightly from withdrawals myself, I feared I would drop the keys unto the landing below. I forced my hands to steady themselves and inserted a likely key into the lock. I sighed with relief when the tumblers easily turned.

I began to open the door. I saw Cheri remove something from her pocket. It was the syringe Guest had dropped when I killed him. She must have retrieved it while I was searching him for the keys. For a moment I thought she was going to use it on me as a weapon, but then I recognized her true intent.

"No!" I told her fiercely. "Don't do it, please," I nearly begged her. I moved to stop her, but slowed by carrying my burden of Troy, I could not reach her in time.

Cheri quickly injected herself, a moment of quiet bliss quickly crossing her face as she gradually slumped down, her breathing already shallow and beginning to slow. I quickly put Troy down on the landing and went to her. Even before I looked at her, I already knew that there was nothing I could do for her. Her eyes were fluttering and she was nodding off. It would not be long before she was gone.

"I pray you find the peace you are seeking. Dance beautifully in the hereafter," I said to Cheri softly, and I made the sign of the cross over her. I heaved Troy unto my shoulder again and opened the door to freedom, not looking back at what remained of her.

I squinted out into the golden sunshine. The door opened to a narrow, crooked alley deserted except for a lone automobile parked half-way down the street. There was a driver in the vehicle with his back towards us. I could see him gathering his belongings, preparing to exit.

There was no one else in the vicinity. I quickly stepped outside. Silently, I closed the door behind me and quickly locked it, pocketing the key. It would gain us a few precious seconds if Tristan or Nasir should discover us missing.

I staggered down the alley towards the automobile. We would be unable to escape without it. When we neared it, I gently laid Troy down, partially hiding him in an enclave. I was perspiring heavily and it felt good to unburden myself of his weight.

As the driver was leaving the automobile, I came up silently behind him, placing one hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming. I quickly brought my makeshift knife to his throat. Then, I pushed him to the wall, ensuring he could not see me. I could feel his body become rigid with fear.

"I need your automobile," I told him softly in Arabic. "Give me the key and I will not harm you. I am a desperate man with little time to spare. It will take me only a second to slash your throat. You decide if your life is worth defying and angering me."

He reached into his pocket and instantly produced the key. I quickly pocketed it before continuing my orders to the man.

"Now remove your jacket and shirt." I could sense his puzzlement as to why I would steal his clothing. I only had to slightly apply pressure with the weapon to remind him of my demand. I desperately needed his shirt. I had only been outside for a few minutes and the flies were already beginning to eat me alive.

I donned his shirt, not bothering to button it. I reached up and removed his headscarf. I then rapidly tied his hands behind his back and used his belt to secure him tightly to a protruding pipe. I pulled his handkerchief from the jacket's breast pocket and stuffed it into his mouth. I then placed his jacket over his head to prevent him from witnessing our escape. Not giving the man a second thought, I left him. He would be discovered soon enough by a passerby.

I retrieved Troy and placed him in the back seat. I looked up and down the alley, but there was still no indication that our escape had been discovered. So far so good, but it was not the time to become complacent, I warned myself. We needed to leave the town immediately before we attracted any attention.

The automobile easily turned over on the first attempt. I quickly checked the fuel gauge and thanked God for the full petrol tank. The vehicle was a fairly late model and appeared to be in good running order. It should be able to handle the terrain if I remained on firmer ground.

Satisfied, I pulled smoothly away as if stealing an automobile was an everyday occurrence for me.

I drove slowly through the town, taking care not to be noticed. There were no soldiers, Allied nor Axis, to be seen on the streets. They still must be recovering from the prior night's debauchery, I thought.

I remotely contemplated handing over Troy to an Allied soldier if I saw one, but quickly decided against it. One look at Troy and the soldier would shoot me on the spot without bothering to ask for any details. Inversely, approaching a Wehrmacht soldier was also out of the question. I would have been signing Troy's death warrant. No, I needed to find a cooler head which would give me the opportunity to detail the events over the last several days.

I departed in the direction of the German lines. Any pursuers would naturally expect me to head in that direction, to return to what little remained of Axis held territory. After I had traveled a few kilometers, I circled back to head north east towards the Allied lines. Our bearing was now toward the last known position I had of the Rat Patrol.

I gave myself a one in a hundred chance of succeeding. Troy and I would either live or die together in the desert.


	8. Chapter 7

I drove without hesitation and with purpose, unerring of my direction, not needing to stop and confirm it. I was in tremendous pain, but the driving forced me to concentrate, taking my mind off my physical condition.

I found myself edgy and very irritated. I dearly would have loved a drink, or God forgive me, a slight, just a very slight, dose of the heroin to take the edge off the situation and calm me down. Guest had assured me the heroin would be perfect for stressful situations. My situation certainly qualified as stressful.

I immediately placed my thought aside, aghast, knowing the reason supporting it. If anything was evident of my addiction, this was it. Guest had been insightful: I could already feel the lure of the drug calling me after just a few short days. I would have become like Cheri if I had been held captive much longer.

After nearly an hour of driving, I finally halted. I quickly scanned the horizon, but we were not being followed. I took the opportunity to check on Troy who had been restless since our escape. I found a jug of water in the boot and gave several sips to Troy. He was weaving in and out of consciousness and I was not even sure if he was aware of our escape. The water helped revive him and his agitation lessened.

I stopped only a few more times. During them, I gave Troy the majority of the remaining water and confirmed we were still not being followed. After the third stop, I finally relaxed, convinced there were no pursuers.

It was not long after I had resumed driving when Troy spoke for the first time.

"We're heading into Allied territory, aren't we?" It wasn't necessary for him to ask. He was very much aware of our direction.

"Yes," I replied simply.

"Why? The Axis territory is closer."

"I believe you already know the reason why, Sergeant." When he said nothing, I expanded on my brief response.

"The Afrika Korps will be surrendering soon, at the most within a week. However, with German efficiency there will be sufficient time for you to be processed into a POW camp and then sent to Europe. You would remain there for the next few years until Germany is forced to accept the unconditional surrender which I believe is inevitable."

Still no response from Troy. I could imagine however that he was quietly contemplating the idea of going to a prison camp for the remainder of the war. And knowing Troy, quite possibly already plotting escape strategies.

"As much as I would enjoy seeing your harassment of the Wehrmacht come to an end, I find no reason for it to end is such a manner. Besides, you are in dire need of medical attention, something the Afrika Korps is unable to provide you in its current state."

Troy finally nodded. "Pretty much what I thought you would say. I didn't take you for the sentimental type though, Captain."

I couldn't help the small smile that crossed my lips. "I am delighted to still possess the ability to surprise you."

"And what happens to you after my return?"

"I will provide you with the final surprise: Once I return you to your team I will then make my way to the German lines. I will be with my men when the time arrives to surrender."

"You could surrender to me now," Troy offered.

"And my men? What about their fates? Am I to leave them believing I defected without giving them a second thought?"

"We could go get them. It all ends now, and no one else has to die."

I gave a bitter laugh.

"You are hardly in a condition to accept my surrender or my men's. If anything, you should be surrendering to me, Sergeant. No, not now. The time nor the situation is not right."

We rode in silence for several minutes.

My edginess began to increase as the silence continued. I had the dark fear Troy would eventually comment on my cries of obvious sexual ecstasy when I had climaxed. Would he suspect what had happened or would he assume I had merely been entertained by Cheri as a parting gift before my supposed death?

Or, had also Guest performed the same despicable honor on Troy? I myself would never, and could never, ask him such a question. Gradually, as I continued driving, my tension lessened. Either Troy had not heard, or he understood the reasons why Guest had performed it and he was too embarrassed for my sake to comment.

"Why did you come back for me?" Troy asked, breaking the silence. His voice was weaker, the prolonged conversation having taking its toll on him.

"Well, you were obviously not handling the situation, Sergeant. I'll agree that it was not necessary for me to step in and rescue the both of us," I said to him lightly, concentrating on my driving. "I simply grew impatient while waiting for you to rescue me."

Now it was Troy's turn to laugh.

"Never knew you had a sense of humor, Captain. I was just gathering my strength to escape when you beat me to it. Besides, if anything, you're in a worse condition than me."

"No one believes we Germans have a sense of humor," I laughed again, which hurt my back. "I'm actually considered to have a wicked sense of humor."

"What, by your German mother?"

"Actually, my mother is Prussian. And yes, she does believe that I possess a sense of humor."

"I had forgotten your mother was Prussian." Troy sounded thoughtful, as if he was remembering much more than just my mother.

My eyes narrowed. I turned around to face Troy. "Pray tell me how you knew my mother was Prussian?" I asked coolly, my voice with a hint of danger.

He responded with a laugh and then grimaced from the pain it caused him. "Take your pack off and stand at ease, Captain. I did my homework about you, just as I'm sure you did that on me."

"Homework? And what did you learn?"

"You have an impressive life: Prominent German general for a father, highly regarded Prussian aristocrat for a mother, extensive land holdings in Coburg and assets stashed away in Swiss banks, Academy graduate at the top of your class, you speak several languages and have been awarded a chest full of medals including the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves."

I was speechless at Troy's depth of knowledge of me.

"You're definitely not a second stringer, Captain. You've had Rommel's eye for several years. Or at least you did when he was here."

"You know quite a bit about me, Sergeant. Too much, I would say. I am a very private person."

Troy shrugged. "Moffitt found most of it out. He's good at that kind of stuff."

Now it was my turn to strike.

"And what about you, Sergeant? The quintessential American cowboy from Wyoming?" I countered. "Rather unoriginal, wouldn't you agree?"

"See? You did your homework, too, if you know where I'm from. Don't tell me you're one of those American hating Europeans? Believing all of us Americans to be cowboys?"

My silence provided him my answer.

"Just as I thought. I would have been surprised if you felt any different. Everyone loves to hate the Americans, but deep down inside everyone wants to go there and become one."

"Hardly, Sergeant," I responded with indignity. What was it about this man which always raised my hackles? "Unfortunately, it appears that I will be going there against my will to spend time in a POW camp until the war ends. Either there or Canada. Hopefully, Canada. It is at least half-way civilized and the food is not quite so tasteless due to the French influence."

"Well, America accepts everyone, even Germans after the war ends. You might think about staying. We would take even you. Bring everyone else and make it a family affair."

"My goal is to return to Germany and to my family in one piece, not to leave it. Besides, my family would no more desire to immigrate there than I would."

My thoughts switched to my homeland. Only God knew what condition it would be in when the war ended. Troy rudely pulled me back to the desert.

"Just a thought, Captain. Keep it in mind for when the war is over. I could use a man like you."

"And pray tell me, what is your business in Wyoming?"

"My family does ranching."

So Troy actually _was_ a cowboy.

"So you hit cows?" I asked.

"Hit cows?" I could hear the puzzlement in his voice before he suddenly burst out laughing.

"The slang phrase is 'punching cattle'. We also farm hay and oats, to feed the livestock, and vegetables to feed the family. We're fairly self-sufficient."

"And I suppose that your family owns half of Wyoming?"

"No, nothing like your land holdings. Our place is small, but it provides a good life for us. Been in the family for a few generations. It'll be tough hiring hands after the war. American soldiers who have seen the world aren't going to be satisfied with handling cattle anymore. We're going to need men afterwards. Seriously, I could use you a man like you to run and expand our operations."

The idea was almost as absurd as Guest's suggestion that I work with him. I couldn't help but laugh. Working for Troy after I had so many months worked to rid myself of Troy was unfathomable.

Suddenly, I remembered an incident from my senior year and my humor died away. I recalled a tirade from a drunken general when I was chauffeuring Schnass during my probationary period. The general was degrading me for being Schnass' driver and being an embarrassment to my father. He joked that the only worse occupation would be for me to be working on a ranch in the United States. His words still stung after all these years even though I had achieved success as a soldier. It was something that I had sworn would never happen to me. The memory made me angry, and angry at Troy for unknowingly opening an old wound.

However, it was hardly Troy's fault. Unlike the general's comments, Troy's words had been well meaning. I took a breath and let it out, nearly changing the subject. "Those are almost the exact words Guest used and I also refused his offer."

Troy cocked his head and grinned. "It's quite a bit different running cattle than dealing drugs. We run an honest operation."

"Still, I think not," I said. "The two of us working together? One of us would end up finally killing the other out of frustration."

"Maybe, maybe not. We've worked several times together in the past. And who knows, we will probably again." Troy was quiet for a moment. "On a different note, would it be too much to hope for that you also grabbed my cigarettes when you picked up my hat?"

"It would be."

I hadn't thought about cigarettes during my entire captivity. But now, when Troy mentioned them, my nicotine addiction came roaring back in full force. Suddenly, I was dying for a cigarette. The desire settled upon me like a raging thirst and I was unable to think of anything else.

I frowned at Troy. "I could shoot you, Sergeant, for mentioning cigarettes. I was perfectly fine without them until you said something. And not only do we not have any cigarettes, I also was unable to procure the drug given the limited time we had to escape."

"I didn't ask about the heroin," Troy responded quietly.

"I was merely anticipating your next question," I lied to him irritably.

"That's not the path you want to walk down. I know it's not what you really want."

"You know nothing of me, Sergeant," I said dangerously. "You may believe that you do from our brief encounters. And from what you've read in a dossier, impersonal words on flat paper. But you know nothing about me."

We rode in silence for several minutes before he broke the tension.

"What happened to Guest?" Troy asked.

"Dead. I killed him when I escaped," I answered.

Troy nodded. "He got what he deserved then. Sick bastard."

"How were you captured, Sergeant? I was never successful at containing you for even half this long."

"I was in the town with a twenty-four hour pass." Troy shifted position. "Cheri slipped me a note stating you needed to meet me nearby. Given the German situation, I honestly thought you wanted to defect or surrender so I went with her."

"And you believe you know me?" I snorted. "You should know me well enough by now, Sergeant, to realize I would never betray my oath as a German officer in such a way."

"If it's worth anything to you, I had serious doubts about the note being for real, but I wanted to give you the opportunity in case it was legitimate. I felt I owed you something."

"Go on."

"I was waylaid in an alley while Cheri was supposedly taking me to you." Troy sighed. "Moffitt warned me my sentimentality would lead to my downfall and he was right. And you? How were you captured?"

"My capture was not due to a reason as noble as yours."

"A woman?"

"Yes."

"Don't tell me it was Cheri?" Troy involuntarily made a face before he recovered his composure.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"She just doesn't seem like your type. That's all."

"Perhaps not, but at the moment, she was my type."

"Your Prussian mother was right: You do have a sense of humor." Troy grinned. "Speaking of Cheri, what happened to her? She definitely offered nothing but reckless love for anyone who came near her."

"Also dead."

Troy's eyes widened. "Did you leave anyone alive, Captain?"

"Cheri died from an overdose, not by my hand. She injected herself with the syringe meant to kill me. I was unable to stop her. As for the others, they were still alive when we escaped."

"So how did they get you?"

"I was drugged in the bar and captured in the alley when I was accompanying Cheri to her residence. I had no idea you were involved until Guest began questioning me and mentioned our supposed collusion." I thought for a moment before continuing.

"Are you aware it was Hauptmann Wilhelm Meyer who betrayed us to Guest?"

"Yeah, though it took me until the next day to even remember who he was. Meyer must carry a pretty mean grudge against the both of us."

"Your words are an understatement. Meyer's disagreement with me stretches back for several years. You, I am sure, were an added bonus."

"Son-of-a bitch." Troy's mouth narrowed. "He'll get his in the end when the fat lady finally sings. I'll see to that if no one else does."

"I'm sure you won't be the only one waiting in line to give Meyer his due."

"Probably not, but I think that I might be at the front of that line."

"When did you Americans become so 'chatty'? I don't remember you being quite so talkative the final time I visited the United States." I was beginning to prefer Troy when he was unconscious. The quiet would have provided me the opportunity to think. Or, to nurse my screaming addictions in peace.

"Makes sense you were there. Faint accent, knowledge of our culture," Troy replied, ignoring my sarcastic question. "Where were you and when?"

"I have visited your country several times, various locations. My last visit was to the western United States, primarily in California, in the spring of 1939."

My mind went to Irene. I had thought that I had spotted her in San Francisco during my final visit, but I had never been sure. I hadn't pursued the woman. I had been afraid that it had been Irene, and I had wanted to allow her peace. Despite that, I still longed for her, even after so many years and so many other women.

Troy gave a low whistle. "No kidding? My kid sister goes to college in California. Some private blue blood university in Los Angeles. Wouldn't it have been something if you had ran into her when you were there?"

"'Blue Blood'?" I frowned. I was unfamiliar with the term. The Americans were too free were their metaphors and none of them made any sense. Another annoying trait I found in them.

"It means rich," Troy responded laughing. "She received a full ride, err, I mean scholarship to attend college. Bubs is the smart one of the family."

I raised an eyebrow. "You can't possibly be serious for your sister's name to be 'Bubs'. Your parents could not have been so cruel to burden a poor child with such a name, even if they were Americans." I felt incredibly sorry for Troy's sister.

"Nah, it's just the nickname we've called her since she was a toddler. You'd like Bubs. She'd be your type. All the time."

"We've repeating our earlier discussion, Sergeant. I seriously doubt that you know my 'type'. You know nothing of me as a man let alone my taste in women." I glanced behind me to glare at him again.

"Oh, I think I know you well enough," Troy grinned. "Besides, I was right about Cheri, wasn't I?"

"Being right one time hardly makes you an expert when it comes to relationships, Sergeant, especially one involving me," I said firmly, hoping to end the topic of conversation. I was becoming exasperated with Troy. The man always could find the strength to annoy me even given the most trying circumstances.

I had listened politely, but I cared not in the least to hear of his family, especially his sister who probably was just an annoying, unattractive female version of Troy. I wanted to keep my relationship with Troy nothing but professional and impersonal. Rescuing him had been one thing, but I was drawing the line at discussing relationships with him.

Troy said nothing for a few minutes and I thought he had lost consciousness again. I felt something akin to relief at the prospect of some peace and quiet. He then repeated his original question.

"Why _did_ you come back for me, Captain?"

I thought a moment before answering him. The truth was a sentimental thing, as Troy had shrewdly assessed earlier.

I took a deep breath.

"We have both been warriors together for over fourteen months, Sergeant, unfortunately separated by different governments. I respect you as a soldier and as a man. I would never have left without you to die under such conditions. It is better for the both of us to die together in the desert than in a dank basement from a purposely administrated heroin overdose at the hands of Guest," I told him truthfully, "as pleasurable as that death would have been." These final words slipped out before I could stop them and I was shocked to hear them leave my mouth.

I took a quick glance at Troy, but his face was impassive. If he was moved at my speech, shocked at my admission, or felt anything at all, he certainly didn't show it.

"The evening we were both captured, if we had met in the bar, I would have bought you a drink and toasted you, Sergeant Troy. You have been a worthy adversary and taught me to respect the Americans as soldiers. Perhaps another time, another place?"

"Captain, I'll take you up on your offer. I'll buy, though. After all, it's the least I can dol."

"Yes, it would be." Considering all of the misery and frustration that Troy had visited upon me during our time in the desert, I felt it fair to allow him that.

Troy chuckled.

We reverted to silence. When I glanced behind me again, Troy had drifted off into sleep.

I frankly had no intention for the two of us to die. I had been told a lifetime ago that my destiny was to save Troy's life. I knew it must mean more than just assisting Troy to escape from Guest. Another part of her prophecy foretold Troy saving my life. Since he had not yet done so, I needed to ensure that Troy lived.


	9. Chapter 8

The one time that I actually wanted the Rat Patrol, when I desperately _needed_ to find them, they were nowhere to be found. I gave a bitter laugh of frustration. Of course I would be unable to find the remaining members: I had their leader. It was Troy who provided the team its strength as well as its direction. While Moffitt was a formidable opponent and brought exceptional skills to the battlefield, he was not Troy.

We had been in the Rat Patrol's last known area of operation for almost an hour and there was still no sign of them. If we maintained our direction, we would soon bisect the Allied occupied area and emerge at the edges of the formerly German held territory. I now had little choice but to continue moving. I had proceeded too far to return. With petrol running low, I doubted that we would have a sufficient enough supply to make it to the German lines.

I keenly scanned the horizon with my naked eyes, searching for any sign of them. I was met with nothing but emptiness. With no other options, I returned to the vehicle disappointed and despondent and continued driving.

Soon afterward, I found myself beginning to lose consciousness. The automobile began to weave slightly back and forth, occasionally drifting into the soft sand. The adrenalin which had fueled my flight had completely dissipated. I had had nothing to eat since before I was captured and very little to drink. I had become severely dehydrated. Given the drug use, trauma of the torture and the resulting blood loss, my blood pressure was beginning to drop rapidly.

I fought against it, but I could not stop the blackness from overtaking me. I slumped against the steering wheel. The automobile stalled and came to a slow halt.

Surprisingly, I felt comfortable and at peace. There was a cooling breeze wafting through the automobile, and I felt that now was as good as any time and place to die. I imagined someone gently brushing my dirty hair aside and kissing me lightly on the forehead. A woman's light touch, I thought. Not the rough, calloused hands I assumed Perkins to possess. Perhaps my assigned angel had finally been replaced with a caring and compassionate woman. I could only hope.

I lost all track of time. I was only conscious of my soft and relaxed breathing. But then, I became vaguely aware of the sounds of approaching light vehicles. Almost as if it was a dream, I could hear from far off the short burst of a .50 caliber weapon.

A man called out an order in French, still remote and distant. I was unable to comprehend his words. I then heard him repeat his order in German, followed soon by Arabic, each time his words were more forceful than the last.

I gradually was regaining consciousness when the .50 caliber was fired again, much closer. Now I knew it was not a dream.

I had finally found the remaining members of the Rat Patrol. Or more accurately, they had found us. Relief swept through me. It was something that I thought that I would never feel at the thought of an imminent confrontation with them.

"I'm giving you my final warning to you. Whoever you are, state your business or you will be fired upon. Next time we won't fire warning shots," Moffitt said in a sharp voice.

After a moment, I heard him order a man to proceed firing within the minute if there was no response.

I brought my head up with an effort, and attempted to focus my eyes. Although the Rat Patrol was still a safe distance away, they were closer than I thought they would be. My vision was still blurry, but I was able to see Moffitt's slight look of surprise when he recognized me.

"Raise your hands where I can see them, Captain. Then exit the vehicle. I won't ask you a second time," Moffitt ordered.

I slowly raised my hands and used my elbow to unlatch the door. It was an effort to leave the automobile and I needed to lean against it for support. Finally, I gathered my strength and took a few tentative steps towards Moffitt's voice.

My vision was clearing and I could see them off to my left. They had approached from behind on my left flank, using the large sand dunes for cover. The dunes surrounded us on three sides and I realized that if I had not passed out when I did, I would have driven directly into the foremost one. As it was, the automobile was mired in the soft sand. Even if I had regained consciousness, without the intervention of the Rat Patrol, it would have been impossible for Troy and myself to dislodge the vehicle in our current state.

I noticed the quiet private who drove for Moffitt gesture at my appearance. I could see Moffitt's shrewd eyes take in the blood covered shirt.

"Why are you here, Captain?" Moffitt was clearly focused on my reason for being in Allied territory and seemed to care about little else. "You must realize where you are. Are you surrendering early before the Afrika Korps' imminent end? Making the smart choice and defecting to the Allied side? You will be able to say you did it early, knowing Germany would lose. Beat the rush?"

"Hardly, Sergeant," was all I was able to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, whatever your reason for being here, since you are not defecting nor surrendering, you are now our prisoner. Just a tad earlier than your mates."

Finally, I was able to speak the words that I knew would matter to Moffitt above all else.

"I have Sergeant Troy."

The effect was instantaneous. Troy's young driver, Hitchcock, leaped from the .50 caliber weapon he had been manning.

"Hitch! Stand down!" yelled Moffitt, but it was too late to stop him. Hitchcock grabbed a rifle from the Jeep's scabbard, and ran past me. He quickly looked into the vehicle and saw Troy in the back seat.

"You dirty Kraut! What've you Nazis done to him?" Hitchcock yelled at me, murder in his eyes. He brought the rifle butt across my face, knocking me to the ground before he leaped on me. Moffitt was there in an instant, struggling to pull Hitchcock off of me while ordering the remaining private to immediately man the .50 caliber.

"Don't stop me, Moffitt. Look what he did to Sarge!" Hitchcock insisted.

"Behave!" With a warning look, Moffitt got off of Hitchcock. Then, he peered into the back of the automobile. Taking in Troy's condition, he winced, before turning his attention to me.

"What happened to Troy?" Moffitt demanded. "Captain, quickly explain how Troy ended up in his current state." Moffitt's voice was icy and without emotion. His light eyes were the same.

I knew in an instant that Moffitt was the deadlier of the two sergeants. It had been Troy who had tempered him all these months.

My words came slowly and with difficulty.

"Sergeant Troy and I were both captured by a profiteer named Stuart Guest in Ater. Guest believed I had colluded with the Rat Patrol to appropriate and hide Nazi gold before the fall of the Afrika Korps."

I paused for a moment, trying to get my breath. It was difficult for me to speak with Hitchcock on my chest.

"Private, get off me," I ordered him. My back was being pushed into the ground and my ruined flesh was screaming in agony.

"Hitch. Hitch!" Moffitt pulled at the boy's collar, almost as if he was ordering a hunting dog to release its prey.

Hitchcock slowly rose and backed away, never taking his eyes from me. I went to my knees, and then slowly stood up.

I saw Moffitt's eyes go to the back of my stolen shirt. "Bloody hell," I heard him mutter.

I could only imagine what it looked like to him. "Bloody Hell" probably summed it up perfectly.

"Hitch, the Captain is in the same condition as Troy," Moffitt said quietly, his tone suddenly reasonable. "Look at his shirt. His back is covered with blood." His eyes had also changed when he looked at me again. "What happened to the two of you when you were being held, Captain?"

My torture, touching and forced drug use suddenly felt very personal and I did not want to disclose it to Moffitt and the others. Suddenly, and without rational reason, I felt as ashamed as if what had happened had been my fault. I decided to offer only the briefest facts as explanation, Troy to provide the details regarding his own experiences if he saw so fit.

"Guest tortured us to tell him where the Nazi gold that Troy and I stole was hidden."

"Nazi gold?" Moffitt's eyebrows went up and he looked back at the car where Troy laid. "You don't say?" There was the barest hint of amusement in his expression. "Go on."

"Don't believe him, Sarge. He can't be trusted," Hitchcock urged. "He's lying."

"I speak the truth, Private Hitchcock," I said with authority, straightening myself. "I did not injure myself out of sympathy for Sergeant Troy's condition. But, believe what you care to." I shrugged. There was nothing more I was willing to share.

"Captain Dietrich is telling the truth," Troy said weakly from the back seat. "It's exactly what he said. Back off, Hitch."

At Troy's order, Hitchcock looked at me and then quickly colored, before averting his eyes to his feet.

"Sorry, Captain. I should have known better. You always treated us decently given the circumstances," he stammered.

I merely nodded at his contrition, rubbing my jaw as I did so.

Moffitt neatly stepped into the conversation.

"We knew something was strange when Troy didn't return when scheduled. We searched for him, but could find out absolutely nothing. We had no idea you were connected with his disappearance."

We all stood there in an awkward silence until Moffitt finally broke it.

"Do you need water?"

"Provide it to Sergeant Troy first. He is in far worse shape than I." A brief look of respect crossed Moffitt's face that I would see to my enemy first.

Troy could be heard protesting from the car that he was fine and that I was in worse shape.

Moffitt looked even more amused. He shook his head. "There is more than enough for the both of you. Tully, give Troy water and also bring a canteen to the Captain."

I drank the water slowly, Moffitt watching me intently as I did so.

"Did Troy provide you the coordinates of this location?" Moffitt asked when I had had my fill.

"No. Why do you ask?" I looked at him curiously, not understanding the significance behind his question.

"We've frequently quartered here due to its proximity to German territory. In fact, we used it as a staging area several times to hit your convoys. It provides good cover on three sides yet it's inconspicuous."

I nodded, agreeing that it was an excellent location from a strategic vantage.

Moffitt rubbed the stubble that darkened his jaw. "Interesting, isn't it? You were unaware of it yet somehow able to find it."

Ever the dedicated soldier, I silently cursed myself at the lost opportunity. My unit must have passed by it on scores of occasions. I had had several soldiers investigate it, but there was no indication of it being used at any the time.

"If I had known about it, I would have used it fully to my advantage," I said frankly looking him directly in the eye. Left unsaid was that their likely death would have resulted from the encounter.

"Understood," Moffitt replied, giving me a slight nod, as if he had heard my thoughts. "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't."

"What made you return today?" I asked him. "There is no Wehrmacht activity in this area."

"I'm not sure," he admitted. There was an odd look on his face. "We were returning from a routine patrol when something compelled me to perform a final sweep behind the dunes. When we spotted the vehicle, we had no idea it was the two of you. I suspected you were some unfortunate local who had become disorientated and lost in the desert. I became suspicious of a trap when there was no response to my calls."

Moffitt gestured to Troy and then glanced again at my back. "Now we understand why you didn't respond. Both of you are in desperate need of medical attention, more than what little we can provide you here. You are free to accompany us to an Allied field hospital, but I am unable to guarantee your release afterwards. Do you wish to officially surrender or defect, Captain?"

"Not in the slightest," I said firmly. "It appears you are as fixated on this topic, Sergeant Moffitt, as Sergeant Troy. I have no intentions of doing either. My choice is to rejoin my unit for what little time it has remaining. I will then surrender with my men, all of us together. The Afrika Korps still has some medical facilities at its disposal. I will seek care after I return."

"Honorable decision, Captain. Maybe not the smartest one," Moffitt pronounced, "but honorable to a fault. I'd expect no less."

I paused before asking my next question. It was a question I dreaded asking, but which I could no longer avoid.

"What is the current status of the Afrika Korps?"

"What remains is converging on Tunis. There have already been reports of surrender by a large number of German and Italian forces. I estimate complete surrender is within one to two weeks at the most."

It was as it Moffitt reported to me and was providing me with battlefield conditions for our unit. I respected his frankness and the complete lack of boasting or bragging of conquering his enemy.

"Thank you," I told him. "Now if you would excuse me, I have a pressing appointment with the American Army."

I went to reenter the automobile, but again began swaying. I was forced to lean against it to prevent myself from collapsing.

"In your condition you'll be lucky not to kill yourself, Captain, let alone make it to German lines if you drive that car."

Moffitt was silent for a moment and looked to be considering something carefully. I wondered what he was up to. I was surprised at what he said next.

"If you are comfortable enough, I will return you to your camp's last known location. I will also provide a confirmation to your unit regarding the reason for your absence. Note I will only do so on the condition that I am to be released afterwards and that I am allowed to return to an Allied location without any trouble from your men."

As much as I disliked having to accept Moffitt's proposal, I agreed that it was unlikely that I would succeed in reaching the German lines without his assistance. It was even more unlikely my superiors would believe my explanation regarding my absence without some type of evidence. No, I needed an independent confirmation, the validation Moffitt could provide.

I gave Moffitt a short nod, agreeing to his offer. I really had no choice, if I were to survive, it was necessary for me to accept it.

"I guarantee your return to the extent of German held territory."

"Good choice. Since we've arrived at an agreement, we should get started. Both of us will need to return to our respective areas before sundown." Moffitt turned to his men. "Tully, take Troy to the field hospital in the automobile. Hitch, you go with them in one of the Jeeps. I will return Captain Dietrich to his camp in the other Jeep. I'll meet back up with you at the camp."

Moffitt's driver quickly spoke up. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"I do," answered Moffitt. "Unless you have a better one?"

"Well, I mean, the Germans might not know that you have the Captain with you. You know how they are. They'll shoot first and ask questions later."

Hitchcock nodded. "And who's to say the other Germans will honor his guarantee of safe passage? They're probably a little antsy these days." He glanced quickly at me. "No offense, Sir."

"None taken," I responded with a tired grin. "I'm sure that you are right."

Moffitt inclined his head. "All valid points. However, Captain, I am willing to take the chance. After all, I owe you."

"Owe me?" I was almost afraid at what Moffitt was going to say next, my mind going to a day in the desert where I committed what could be easily considered treason and murder.

"You agreed to testify on my behalf regarding the contaminated plasma. You saved my life. I'm happy to return the courtesy that you once gave to me."

I almost sighed in relief. "I have little desire to become a casualty from my own men. I will grant you safe passage from my camp, Sergeant," I confirmed, echoing Troy's words from how many months or years ago? Had such little time actually elapsed? "A white flag will be honored by my men. It is unlikely you will be hindered on your return since the German presence in the area has become scarce."

There was no response to my logic but Moffitt's nod.

I looked to the sky and the position of the sun. "Sergeant Moffitt, I recommend an immediate departure."

Not waiting for Moffitt, I walked to the Jeep, brushing off his offers of assistance and, maintaining what little dignity I had. Moffitt crisply issued his remaining orders.

It took only a few minutes for the automobile to be pulled from the sand and refueled.

Moffitt checked on Troy for a final time, speaking with him briefly. I noticed Moffitt glancing my way every few seconds. I understood I was the topic of their conversation. I stared straight ahead, not wanting to catch his eye.

Moffitt soon joined me after his final words with Troy. "I'm usually the medic on our team. Would you care for me to examine your back, Captain? Looks nasty. Must feel even worse," he said with some sympathy."

"Sergeant, I am already aware of my condition," I said. "Unfortunately, I am also aware that there is nothing you would be able to do for it."

"Morphine? We have a sufficient amount. I have already administered some to Troy. The upcoming terrain will be rough," Moffitt warned. "It won't be a gentle ride in the Jeep."

"No," I said firmly. How could I admit to Moffitt that as much as I deeply desired the drug, that it would be dangerous for me to accept it? Instead, I redirected Moffitt to the matter at hand.

"We are quickly losing daylight, Sergeant. If you are to return me to my unit and return yourself before nightfall, it would be best if we left immediately."

"I agree, Captain."

Tully exited the area first in the automobile, closely followed by Hitchcock in the other Jeep. We left afterwards, quickly traveling in the opposite direction, the Jeep easily finding traction on the soft terrain.

We had already driven a few kilometers before I remembered that I had left without exchanging any parting words with Troy. I roughly pushed any sentimental thoughts aside. The desert war encompassing the both of us would cease shortly and we would be traveling down different paths of life.

Despite that, I knew that Destiny had something different in mind.

I would speak with Troy again, in the final days of Germany, almost two years into the future.


	10. Chapter 9

I must have felt safe enough in Moffitt's presence to doze off, receiving some desperately needed sleep. From far away, I could hear his voice firmly, but gently calling me in German.

"Captain. It's time."

I awakened, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through me, leaving my heart pounding. At first, I could not understand why I would be with Moffitt. Soon, I recalled why we were together and relaxed.

I glanced around to assess our location. Moffitt had safely halted behind a rock formation where we would not easily be seen. By the length of the shadows, I estimated it was now mid-afternoon and we had been traveling for almost an hour.

"Captain, we're on the outskirts of German lines. I don't dare go any farther without you awake for both our sakes. The last confirmed location of your camp is only a few miles away. I assume you put in place a perimeter patrol. The last thing we need is to be surprised by them."

"I had ordered a patrol for the immediate area before I departed on furlough," I confirmed. "Unknown if it is still operational."

"We shall find out shortly," he said with a serious expression.

Moffitt had continued speaking to me in German. It felt odd, yet vaguely friendly, to be conversing with him in my native language.

He paused for a moment, trying to form his next words.

"It's not too late, Captain, for you to . . ."

"Yes, it is Sergeant," I interrupted. "It is too late for me, the Afrika Korps, and for the Nazis. Hopefully, it won't be too late for Germany. I can only pray that the Allies to be compassionate and grant mercy to Germany and its survivors." I looked past him, staring at the rocks.

Moffitt avoided my eyes and said nothing.

"If anyone other than the Rat Patrol had offered surrender to me I would have considered it a grave insult to my honor. Coming from you and Troy, I believe my honor has been upheld."

Moffitt's next words came out quickly and sincerely.

"I never thanked you for saving my life at Raza."

And there it was. I could feel my pulse increase slightly. Would I always be waiting for the consequences of my action to appear, no matter how right it had been at the time? Did it really matter if I were to graciously accept his gratitude? There was no one near us to hear our dialogue.

I forced myself to remain reserved and distant. I could not, and would not, admit to Wansee's killing. Not to Moffitt, nor to anyone, not even to a priest during confession. While I truly believed it was my duty as an officer to perform the deed, I knew that there were others, both Allied and Axis, whose opinion would differ. If the SS should discover the truth, I would be shot or hung on the spot without even the benefit of a farcical trial.

"Raza? What about it?" I asked, feigning innocence.

Moffitt did not comprehend my evasive response. He would not let the episode drop and continued pressing me on it.

"Few men could have made such a shot with a pistol, especially with all the chaos happening. Captain, you are an excellent marksman."

"I have no idea as to what you are referencing, Sergeant," I said in a menacingly voice, locking eyes with him. "I departed the area shortly after delivering Miss Arno and you to Hauptsturmfuhrer Wansee. There is nothing more to discuss. It would be best for all of us to leave the dead sleeping in their graves."

I saw a slight twinkle finally appear in his eyes. Finally, he seemed to understand.

"As you wish, Captain. I understand your difficult position regarding it. But I am thankful for your actions, which may or may not, have saved my life."

Moffitt's face became serious again as he returned to the matter at hand. He exited the Jeep and removed the radio antenna before tying a white cloth to it.

"This should do," he said crisply. "Let's just pray your men aren't jumpy and don't have light trigger fingers."

"My men would always respect a white flag," I said indignantly, after all hadn't we proven that again and again? "However, there is the unknown if my unit has retreated further or been reassigned to a different area since my disappearance." The German battle situation was disintegrating rapidly and another unit might have been ordered to my former area. Or, I thought realistically, my unit might have already surrendered without me.

"We all find out one way or another, soon enough. I for one am hoping that it's your unit. There have been reports of some Germans not being as admirable as your unit."

Moffitt prominently placed the flag on the Jeep before driving from the protection of the outcropping. Only a member of the Rat Patrol would be as brazen to drive so boldly into enemy territory even with a German present, I thought. He was placing his life in my hands. We were both betting on the training of my men.

We had traveled less than ten minutes when shots were fired directly in front of us. It was a clear warning for the Jeep to proceed no further. I could tell from the armament's sound that it was German. While the Allies frequently used captured German weapons, I doubted it was one of them manning the weapon. There would be little reason for the Allies to fire upon an American Jeep.

A voice with a heavy German accent called out in tentative English for us to halt. I could only smile with relief when I recognized it belonged to Leutnant Ernst Hoffmann.

"Leutnant Hoffmann, it is I, Hauptmann Dietrich," I responded in German.

"I have already recognized you, Herr Hauptmann. Why is Sergeant Moffitt with you under a white flag? Are you his prisoner?"

I painfully left the Jeep and slowly began walking to the half-track.

"No, I am not. There is no trick, Leutnant. Sergeant Moffitt is freely returning me to the Afrika Korps."

"Where is Sergeant Troy, the American cowboy, and the remainder of his Rat Patrol posse?" Hoffmann questioned, still suspicious.

"He is with the other members of the Rat Patrol, in route to an Allied field hospital."

I could see Hoffmann noticeably relax, and jump down from his perch. He gave brief orders to his men to remain watchful before he quickly walked to me. I turned and motioned for Moffitt to join us, unconsciously turning my back to my men as I did so.

Hoffmann's obvious relief at seeing me immediately changed after he neared me. He began to salute me, but stopped in mid-air due to his shock. His eyes grew wide when he noticed my shirt, now caked with clotted blood and dirt. He quickly took in my disheveled appearance. A wry part of me thought this must be the first time my men had seen me out of uniform, unshaven and unkempt.

"Herr Hauptmann! What has happened to you? You are in need of immediate medical care. Did the Rat Patrol or the Tommies or the Amis harm you? Is your disappearance due to being held captive by one of them? Have you have been . . ." he began to ask, but left the remainder of his jumbled questions unfinished. His face was dark as he glared at Moffitt.

"None of the above, Leutnant. I was abducted by a privateer in Ater the first night of my furlough and held captive. Sergeant Troy was also captured and we were held together."

"But why would this privateer do such a thing? And why seize the cowboy along with you?"

"The privateer had been incorrectly informed that I had colluded with Sergeant Troy to embezzle gold from the Afrika Korps."

Hoffmann burst out laughing. Quickly, he regained his composure.

"Forgive me for laughing, but what gold? There is nothing to steal. We haven't been paid in weeks, let alone have any additional money available to be stolen. Why would he possibly believe such an outlandish story?"

"Greed outweighed good sense," I replied simply. "He took a chance that a ridiculous rumor might be true. And in the end, he ended up with nothing."

"Leutnant, I am here to provide confirmation to Hauptmann Dietrich's explanation regarding his absence from duty," Moffitt smoothly confirmed in German. "Sergeant Troy has already reiterated your captain's story in my presence. I came in Sergeant Troy's stead due to his poor physical condition. I willingly provide his confirmation to ensure Hauptmann Dietrich is not brought up on desertion or collaboration charges."

The darkness was beginning to fade from Hoffmann's face as he slowly accepted Moffitt's explanation.

"What other units are operating in the vicinity?" I asked Hoffmann.

Hoffmann hesitated, glancing quickly at Moffitt.

I gave Hoffmann a curt nod, indicating my approval to reply before Moffitt. "I have assured Sergeant Moffitt safe passage from German territory. It is critical for him to understand the operatives which may intercept him."

"I'm unaware of any other German patrols within 75 kilometers of here. However, there may be a few unknown units which are making their way to the main German camp near Tunis," Hoffman reported.

"Leutnant, please bring me a pencil and paper to write on, preferably a document with a German insignia."

Hoffman went to the lead half-track and returned in a few minutes. He handed me an inconsequential command announcement which was several months old.

On the back of it, I quickly wrote a note of safe passage for Moffitt in German, Italian, Arabic and English. I authorized it with my bold signature and presented it to him.

"My signature will be recognized by the majority of German and Italian troops who have operated in this area" I assured Moffitt. "It should be honored in case you are detained. You should have no interference in reaching Allied lines. However, it will carry little, if any, weight with the natives."

"Understood."

Moffitt quickly glanced at his watch and then at the sun. He would have little spare time to reach the safety of an Allied camp before nightfall.

"Captain, it has been a pleasure, but it is time for me to leave."

He gave me a broad grin and sharply saluted me. It was the only time I had ever received the honor from him. I returned the salute with a slight nod. Moffitt turned and left, returning without fear to the Jeep.

Something suddenly crossed my mind.

"Sergeant?" I called after Moffitt in English. I knew Hoffmann spoke only halting English. As for the remainder of my men, none of them spoke English to my knowledge.

"Captain? Have you decided to surrender?" he questioned in English, and I could hear the hope in his voice that I had changed my mind, not only for me but also for the sake of my men.

I was destined to disappoint him a final time.

"What time did Sergeant Troy disappear?"

Moffitt looked puzzled for a few minutes before he responded.

"The nearest we could determine, it was sometime after midnight," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Why?" he questioned me again, the curiosity clearly heard in his voice.

"The woman who assisted the privateer with both of our abductions, approached me at around 21:00. By default, Sergeant Troy was abducted after me."

Moffitt continued to look puzzled.

"The woman approached me before him. I finally beat Troy at something," I explained patiently to him with a grin.

"Please send my regards to Sergeant Troy regarding the issue. He will understand them, I assure you."

I watched Moffitt depart, severing the final link that I had with the Rat Patrol.


	11. Chapter 10

"What is the status of our unit?" I questioned Hoffmann crisply before Moffitt was even out of sight.

"Still holding at the same position."

"And the Afrika Korps?"

Hoffmann looked away, uneasy to inform me of the situation.

"Continue," I prompted. "I know that it is not easy presenting difficult news to one's commanding officer."

He suddenly looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine. I nodding to encourage him.

"Our orders are to fall back at first light tomorrow and join the remaining Afrika Korps units at Tunis. We are to cede our territory to the Allies."

"Any casualties or interactions with the Allies since my departure?"

"None."

"Good," I responded with satisfaction.

I had privately instructed Hoffmann before my leave to minimize contact with the enemy while still carrying out our orders. A casualty, from either side, would be nothing but sheer waste so near the end. I was finished with providing a steady stream of young German men to Death.

"Forgive me for asking, but what _did_ happen to you, Herr Hauptmann?"

"There is nothing more to be said. You have already been informed of the event. I will look to you to bear witness to Sergeant Moffitt's confirmation provided by Sergeant Troy."

"Yes, of course, Herr Hauptmann." Hoffmann's kept glancing at me, clearly wanting to know more details. He finally realized I would not be providing anything additional.

"It was fortunate that we found you today. We began searching for you, Herr Hauptmann, on the day after you went missing. We heavily patrolled Ater but found no trace of you. Men from other units gossiped you had already surrendered and left us to our fate. I, and the other men of your command, never doubted your integrity. If it was remotely feasible for you to do so, we knew that you would return."

So it was my men searching for me on the day I was kept sedated. I was honored at their dedication to me so late in the war.

"I was aware someone was searching for us, but unsure of which side. I speculated that it could also be the remaining Rat Patrol men searching for Sergeant Troy."

"Why didn't you surrender, Herr Hauptmann, when you were with the Rat Patrol? You could have escaped what is in store for us" Hoffmann blurted out. "I speak enough English to understand Sergeant Moffitt offered you the opportunity."

"I have never cared to be asked questions when the answer is already known," I said softly to Hoffmann, echoing my father from so many years ago. "It is obvious why I returned. You are familiar enough with me to understand the rationale for my decision."

I looked past him to my enlisted men who were becoming uneasy due to our lengthy conversation. They shared our future's uncertainty. It was now time to leave and for all of us to meet whatever fate had in store.

"Leutnant, radio ahead to our camp. Notify them that we are immediately returning," I ordered, loud enough for the men to hear me. We would now begin preparing for the inevitable together.

Without commenting, Hoffmann removed his tunic and handed it to me. I slipped it on, covering my bloody shirt. I slowly walked to the half-track, my men solemnly saluting me as I passed them.

Hoffmann had already readied our camp to dissemble in the morning. It did not take me long to inspect it and give my approval to his preparations. I radioed headquarters, giving a brief account of my disappearance. My written report would come later that evening, once I had carefully considered and composed it. I sought medical attention only after I was satisfied with the camp's condition, and primarily only due to Hoffmann's insistence. While he had accompanied me during my camp review he had become more and more vocal about his concern.

Our camp possessed only an orderly. We had not had the luxury of a doctor for several weeks. Doctors were currently a rare commodity and the remaining ones had been reassigned to more critical areas with higher casualty rates.

The orderly peeled away the shirt as gently as he could in order to examine me. It only took a cursory inspection for him to declare there was little he could do for me.

"I apologize, Herr Hauptmann, but you can't possibly believe I have the background or expertise for your type of 'injury'. It is far beyond my abilities," he explained flustered and embarrassed. "I have not been trained to handle something like this. Frankly, I could do more for you if you had been shot or lost a limb."

I nodded, accepting that the young man was out of his depths. "I understand. Do what you can."

"I can offer you little more than a cleaning and morphine, Sir. You also have an infection which is strengthening. Unfortunately, I have nothing at all to give you for that."

There was no surprise at his diagnosis. Frankly, I would have been amazed if it had been different.

"As I said, do what you are able, but please forego the morphine. Retain it for those who have more dire needs."

"As you wish, Herr Hauptmann." The orderly set to work.

I had to fight against screaming due to the pain as he dressed my back, cleansing it of days' worth of grime and emerging maggots. He slathered it with an ointment and then left the wounds uncovered, telling me that he believed it better for it to be aired.

My back felt worse afterwards. I could not help but wish that I had foregone treatment for the simple change of a clean shirt. The maggots would have at least removed the dead tissue.

I returned to my tent late in the evening. It was the first moment I had been alone since escaping. I used the solitude to pause and gather my thoughts. It was hard for to comprehend I had escaped only this morning. If I had not known better, I would have sworn several days had passed.

I lit the lamp and glanced around my quarters. Hoffmann had seen for the tent to be neatly packed and prepared to be struck in the morning. My personal belongings had been boxed and placed in the corner, ready to be forwarded to my family if I had not returned.

My shaving mirror was still hanging from a tent pole and I went to it. It was the first time I had looked at myself since my escape. My face was bruised and puffy from the last beating Guest had given me. My eyes had a haunted look and it was obvious I had been emotionally traumatized. One eye was blackened and there were several lacerations across my cheeks and forehead. Compounded by not shaving for several days I looked awful, and only slightly better than Troy.

I fought the urge, but finally couldn't stop myself from stripping down to the waist, rapidly discarding the bloodied shirt and Hoffmann's tunic unto the tent floor. I reached for the mirror and unhooked it from the pole. Angling it behind me, I inspected my back.

The sight disgusted me. I slowly replaced the mirror, never wanting to see my back again. I closed my eyes, wanting to erase what I had seen from my memory.

I disconnected myself from my body, my body which had forever been sullied and dirtied by Guest. I had never felt this way towards my numerous other combat wounds, wounds I scarcely thought of again after receiving them.

No, the torture and his act had impacted me more greatly than I cared to admit.

I became angry and distressed over my experiences from the last several days and was filled with self-loathing and shame. My pulse quickened and it was difficult for me to breath. Suddenly, I desperately wanted a shower. Though the orderly had done a thorough job of cleansing my wounds, I needed to wash away the filth that no one could see. I could smell Guest's cologne and then, I could feel his hands and mouth on me. While I knew that I could never remove the marks that he left on me, I needed to regain some type of dignity and control over my body. I wanted to stand under scalding hot water until my body was finally purified, cleansed of him.

A shower, never mind hot water, was an impossibility.

I requested a jug of water to be brought. While I was waiting, I stripped out of the bloody shirt and trousers, wanting to rid myself of them. I rolled them together and handed them to my adjutant when he returned with the water. "Burn them," I ordered. He was taken back by the fierceness of my order. "Jawohl."

As he placed them under his arm, a white object fell from the bundle to land lightly on the tent's floor. He stooped and picked it up. "This too?" he asked, holding it in his out stretched arm. I stared at it, forcing myself not to recoil from it.

It was Guest's soiled handkerchief, the one he had used on the both of us afterwards and then presented to me as a keepsake.

I was fixated on it.

"Herr Hauptmann? What is your order?"

I was unable to stop myself from slowly taking the handkerchief from him. "No," I said, "not it."

Alone, I unfolded it. I brought it up to my nose to absorb all its scents. The odor of Guest's heavy cologne escaped from it. Mixed with it was my scent along with the unmistakable aroma of the sex we had shared together. Guest has grown to know me too well over the days he had held me captive. He correctly surmised that I would always hold unto the handkerchief as a reminder of my first sexual experience with a man.

No, I was unable to part with it. I placed it in my footlocker, masochistically saving it.

I washed my body the best I was able, ridding myself of Guest's scent. I then shaved, wincing as the blade slid over the bruises. Finally, I combed and trimmed my hair. The simple acts provided me with the first sense of normalcy in days.

I slept little that night from the pain and my racing mind. Thoughts of our imminent surrender competed with the memories of my captivity, leaving me restless. Soon, even the thoughts of surrender were pushed aside and I could only focus on Guest. Despite my washing, the heavy odor of Guest's cologne seemed stuck in my nostrils, smothering and sickening me. I recalled the excruciating pain of the torture, the pleasure of the heroin and sex, and then finally, the moment at which I had killed Guest.

I attempted to relax my mind and calm my thoughts by attempting to remember life in Coburg before the war. It was useless. Every thought that I had was haunted by Guest. Again, I remembered what he had told me. I now readily agreed with him: The heroin would have allowed me to relax and capture some sleep. It would have counter-acted both the pain and my stress from the duty required of me in the morning. But there was no drug available to allow me any kind of temporary escape from my reality. Nor, I told myself, would I ever partake of it again, regardless of what benefits.

Whatever I was to face, I would do it on my own with a clear head and a clean conscious. I finally accepted the reality of sleeplessness and rose early to meet the day.

I addressed the men of my Afrika Korps unit for the final time shortly after dawn. It was a beautiful desert morning, yet the cool morning air seemed stiflingly hot to me. The infection had fiercely taken hold of me during the night and had caused my temperature to dangerously spike.

The few remaining survivors of my unit were assembled, looking for me to provide them some type of hope and reassurance. I did not possess either of these to give them. But as their commanding officer, it was my duty to offer them both to the utmost of my ability. I found it ironic that the Academy had educated me on how to lead men to achieve victory, but that it had offered no instruction on how to lead them to accept defeat.

I forced my voice to be strong for such a difficult moment. It easily carried on the still air.

"Men." I paused, looking at their mostly young faces. There were a few survivors from when I had initially been posted here to pursue the Rat Patrol, but the majority of the men were young replacements. Even the boys with barely a need yet to shave had earned the honor of being called "men" due to how they had fought. Even more so, what horrors that they had witnessed in combat. Hopefully, they would have the opportunity to place everything aside soon, to once again become boys after the war ended. It saddened me, even as I thought it, because I knew that it would never be true.

"Men," I repeated. "We have fought long and hard for our victories," I paused as they nodded their agreement, "and, at times, we have paid a steep price for their obtainment. This has impacted the Afrika Korps' current strength and its ability to continue fighting on the existing front. To alleviate the situation, our unit has been ordered to fall back to Tunis today. Once there, we will reunite with the other units and await there to receive further orders."

I paused again to gather my strength, the strength it was critical for me to demonstrate in front of my men. I continued on.

"I will not lie nor mislead you regarding our current situation. While the future is an unknown that I share with you, what I do know is that our past will never die. Your courage in our combat engagements will be debated by future generations seeking to analyze and replicate your victories. Whatever the future brings, you may take pride in your accomplishments and never be regretful of them. The legacy of the Afrika Korps will live forever!"

I paused before I gave them my final words.

"It has been an honor being your commanding officer and I wish all of you good luck."

There were no 'Sieg Heils', no reference to the ruling National Socialist Party, no invoking of the Furher. No, I wanted nothing but dignity and would not have our final moments bastardized by the Nazis.

I quietly ordered the lead Febel to dismiss the men and to lower the Nazi flag. He handed it to me, neatly folded. I held the flag briefly, touching the faded and worn fabric, feeling just as frayed. I then ordered the colors to be placed among my personal possessions to preserve them for the future. While I had no loyalty to the swastika or what it represented, I wanted to retain the flag which I and my men had fought so fiercely for during my final command in the desert.

The short time that it took us to reach Tunis was a somber journey. Tunis itself was frenzied, the urgency and despondency could be tangibly felt. The once proud and orderly Wehrmacht was noticeably unraveling and on the brink of imploding into defeat.

I ordered Hoffman to see to the men while I reported to Jabs. It took me several minutes to walk the short distance to his command tent, as I had to stop several times to rest. I was heavily perspiring and even more feverish by the time I arrived.

"Herr Hauptmann Dietrich! We hadn't expected to you," Jabs' adjutant said, obviously surprised at my reappearance.

"Oh? And where was I expected to be? I radioed last evening regarding my return and acknowledged our orders to proceed here," I said annoyed. Imminent surrender was no reason for discipline to begin failing, especially among the command staff. "Please notify Herr Oberst Jabs I have arrived to brief him regarding my disappearance."

"Of course, Herr Hauptmann!" The adjutant noticeably flushed and then saluted before as he left to notify Jabs.

Jabs' appearance was almost immediate.

"Hauptmann Dietrich! I wouldn't have believed it unless I saw you." Jabs looked at my poor physical condition with a practiced eye and instantly offered me a chair and a glass of brandy. He waited a few moments for me to finish the brandy before requesting me to proceed with my report.

I briefed Jabs verbally for several minutes before I presented him with my more detailed written report. Scanning the report, he asked me several rapid questions, his eyes keenly searching my face when I responded.

As a result of the raging infection, I was feverish and lightheaded, making it a difficult effort to concentrate on Jabs' words. The brandy had been a mistake. It made my condition worse and did nothing to alleviate the pain. My vision began to deteriorate. Jabs soon had a warped appearance, as if I was looking at him through water. It was all that I could do not to be sick at Jabs' feet.

"And the proof for your disappearance is provided by Sergeant Troy through the other Sergeant . . . Sergeant . . ." he paused to find the correct name in the report, "Sergeant Moffitt?"

"Yes, he provided the confirmation. Leutnant Hoffman witnessed Sergeant Moffitt's verification."

"Why should the two of them provide an alibi for you?

I shrugged my shoulders. "A courtesy from one warrior to another?"

"And I am to believe what you have reported? The reason for your abduction, escape and miraculous return? You must admit everything looks strange, Dietrich." He casually tossed the report unto a side chair and continued looking at me.

"It is the truth, Herr Oberst."

"Relax, Dietrich, I know it is." Jabs was silent a few minutes before asking the most obvious question. "But why _did_ you return? You are very much aware of the battle situation, and were even before you were captured," he said. "The North African war is lost. And our defeat here will soon be followed by another one in Europe. Within the next few days, we will all just be nothing more than POW numbers. Or we'll be dead."

"I know."

"So why did you return, Dietrich? If you had deserted or surrendered or defected, it would not have mattered. No one would have known the difference."

"It seems there is no end to the fascination as to why I returned," I said with a testiness present in my voice.

"Oh?" responded Jabs, obviously noticing my tight response.

"The sergeants Troy and Moffitt asked me the same question." I tactfully omitted including Hoffmann in the group. I wanted to cause Hoffmann no difficulty although I doubted considering his own words that Jabs would have taken action against Hoffmann.

Jabs leaned forward in interest. "And how did you respond to them?"

"The same as I will respond to you now: I wanted to be with my men when they surrendered."

He studied my face intently. "Only a Dietrich would do something so farcical as to return to the viper pit once he had managed to escape," he shook his head slowly. "Dietrich, I believe your explanation regarding your disappearance and return. Be aware, though, 'others' might not be as easily convinced. Your incident could follow you into the future, even after the war ends."

I nodded. It wasn't necessary for him to explain whom the "others" were.

"Have you sought medical care since you arrived here?" Jabs asked.

"No. I believed it was more important to report to you first."

"Well, you've done so, for all it is worth. You are now to seek medical care. You appear about ready to collapse."

I began to protest, but Jabs called for his adjutant.

"You are to escort Hauptmann Dietrich straight to the medical tent without delay," Jabs instructed. "He understands that this is my order and that he is to make no detours." Jabs looked sternly at me.

I rose unsteadily to my feet with effort but managed to formally salute Jabs for the final time.

"Sir."

"Hauptmann Dietrich," he responded with a curt nod. "Give my best to your father."

I departed on the final air transport from North Africa. The commanding officers were desperately trying to evacuate as many wounded as they could, especially the seasoned officers. The doctors had taken one look at me and immediately authorized my evacuation to Italy. There was little, if anything, they could do for me in Tunis. They did not even want to attempt treating me here, concerned that it would put my life in danger. I had repeatedly requested, almost begged, to stay with my men, but I had been flatly refused.

As the plane banked into a large turn heading towards Italy, I caught a final glimpse of the desert. I had been drawn and linked to it for so many years and now I was leaving it behind along with Sergeant Troy and the Rat Patrol. I was also leaving my beloved Afrika Korps to its fate. It seemed at the end, despite my efforts, that I would be unable to share it.

Hoffman had accompanied me to the airplane and I had spent my final moments with him.

"You are fortunate, Herr Hauptman" he had said sincerely. "You are escaping the impending surrender of the Afrika Korps. I am glad for you."

As his commanding officer I should have immediately corrected him for his negative comments, but how could I when we both knew he spoke the truth?

"No, Ernst, I have not," I had frankly replied using his given name, something that I had never done before. "We both will share the same fate. Mine has only been delayed."

"Perhaps America will not be so bad when I am sent there," Hoffmann had said, trying to make the situation something positive. "I have become interested in it after our combat against the Rat Patrol. I believe I would like to work on a ranch some day and hit cows."

"I believe the correct phrase is 'Punching Cattle'," I had corrected him with a smile.

"Ah! I will have to remember it when I am sent to America."

I had given him a faint smile at his forced optimism. I also had managed to reach into my possessions and pull out my remaining bottle of Jack Daniels. Less than a quarter remained of the precious liquid.

"Leutnant, here is something to compliment your new found interest in the United States. Please accept the American whiskey as a small token of my appreciation for your excellent and dedicated service. It belongs out here on the lines, with someone still fighting, for what little time is remaining."

"Herr Hauptmann, thank you but I could not accept such a gift. I know how much it means to you and how long you've had it. There is still time for you to enjoy it in the hospital."

"I insist. Given the situation, I suggest you finish the bottle quickly."

Tentatively, Hoffman had reached out for the bottle and then, had finally taken it. "It is an honor, Herr Hauptmann. Thank you."

"You are a fine officer, Leutnant. Meyer ignored your talents and abilities when he was your superior officer. Truly a wasted opportunity for you and the Afrika Korps." It was one of the few times I had ever spoken poorly of a fellow officer to a subordinate. My words were unprofessional, but Meyer deserved nothing more from me. Meyer had taken his petty jealousies far beyond the normal level of animosity.

"You should have received command of your own unit by now and a promotion to Hauptmann. I recommended your promotion to Oberst Jabs and submitted the documentation weeks ago. I have not been informed if it will be processed before the surrender. In my opinion, though, you earned the rank and the responsibilities a Hauptmann entails."

I could see him become proud of his accomplishment, quickly beaming at my words of affirmation after so many months.

"Herr Hauptmann, it was an honor serving you; it was even more of an honor to fight beside you. I will toast you as I enjoy the whiskey tonight. They say 'You always meet twice in life' and I pray we do so."

I didn't know it at the time, but I would not taste Jack Daniels whiskey again for over three years, when David's bottle was so generously shared with me.


	12. Chapter 11

I was desperately tired, both emotionally and physically, but the sharp pain prevented me from sleeping. The doctors were extremely concerned about my condition, but I had flatly and adamantly refused any morphine. It was too soon after my after my pleasurable experiences with the heroin.

I had become anxious about becoming addicted to morphine in its stead.

I continually and blatantly reiterated other soldiers were in greater need than myself. Even in a major recovery hospital, morphine was in extremely short supply and was being used only on those seriously wounded. When the doctors had attempted to work on my back, I had practically fainted from the pain. At that point, I was finally ordered to accept it.

A few days after my arrival, Doctor Leone spoke bluntly to me. "Your back is slowly beginning to heal and the infection is finally subsiding. I am concerned, though, why you are not making faster progress. My goal was to discharge you next week, but I am not sure if you will have sufficiently recovered even by then." His face settled into a frown.

"But, you are young and strong and will eventually recover. Your facial lacerations will heal with no marks." Leone hesitated before continuing, "No doubt you are aware how your back will be permanently scarred. I'm sorry. I wish I could have done something to salvage it."

I shrugged my shoulders, appearing not to care. "I already have several scars from combat. More will make no difference."

"These are not just scars. It will be obvious to anyone seeing them that the injuries that caused them were not received in combat."

"I understand." So be it, I thought. At least I couldn't see the constant reminders of my ordeal at the hands of Guest. And the scars that remained that couldn't be seen were far worse than anything that would mar me externally.

Leone sighed. "I am only warning you since it could generate questions and especially be unsettling to a woman."

"To the right woman, it shouldn't make a difference." I shrugged. A woman was the furthest thing from my mind. "It doesn't really matter to me in the end."

"Of course, you are right." He looked down and then up at me. "There is something else I would like to discuss with you. You are continually refusing morphine. Is there a reason, Hauptmann, why you will not accept pain medication?"

I repeated what had by now become my rote line. "There are others in greater need than me."

Leone peered at me closely, searching my face. "Would you care for privacy so you may speak openly? Or, I know. Do you speak Latin?" he asked in that language.

"Yes," I responded warily.

Leone began to expertly examine my inner arms, intently focusing on the veins. The initial care Guest had originally given me had been quickly placed aside. His increasing disregard had noticeably left ugly marks on my arms

"Have you been injecting yourself with narcotics? Particularly opiates?" he asked frankly in Latin. "These marks were not made by a medical professional."

I turned away from him, not wanting to answer. My shame rose to the surface and I wanted to share my story with him, feeling that it might lessen my burden. However, I was also leery of answering. Nazi informants were everywhere, even in hospitals. I wanted nothing to negatively impact my military service, or to bring shame to my family.

"I am a Jesuit." Leone gave me a look that was pure compassion. "You may consider our conversation within the confines of confession, if you like."

"No," I responded forcibly. "I have not been injecting myself with drugs." It was not a lie. I had never once injected myself.

"Then I assume you were given them against your will? To keep you quiet after you had been flogged and to prevent you from escaping. Am I correct?"

I was surprised at Leone's astuteness. "Yes."

"You probably were not administered morphine, though," he said thoughtfully. "If I had to make a guess based on your previous location, I would assume it was heroin. Have you become addicted to heroin, Captain?"

I looked at him quickly, giving myself away.

"It's as I thought." Leone gently released my arm, replacing it on the bed and covering it with the sheet. "You must have been given the last heroin injection several days ago. Your system will have already processed any residual amounts. Now the addiction is psychological, not physical."

"The heroin was very pleasurable, Doctor. I had never felt anything like it before. I cared about nothing else while I was under its influence."

Leone spoke professionally and without judgement.

"It is understandable for one to become addicted to drugs. They give one an intense pleasure which is not easily matched. However, their gratification quickly gives way to intense suffering which then demands more drugs."

I thought of Cheri's end with regret. "I understand, but the desire is constantly with me. At times, I can think of little else except its pull."

"Which leads you to feel extreme guilt and shame." Leone shook his head. "You need to forgive yourself for that. It's merely human nature. With all that you've been through, continuing to torture yourself mentally is not aiding in your recovery."

Once again, I was surprised by the depth of his insight. But then, I realized, that as a Jesuit he had probably heard the confessions of hundreds of men who were in far worse shape than I.

"Are you offering forgiveness, Doctor Leone?"

"If it will give you peace, certainly. However, I'm not sure that there's anything to forgive. You cannot blame yourself for something in which you had no choice. You were a victim."

But I could blame myself, I thought, and I was. "A victim," I repeated, thinking about the word. An innocent caught in something that I was powerless to overcome? Perhaps not an innocent, but powerless certainly. It pained me to admit it, but overall the assessment was correct.

"Yes, a victim. What I want is to assure you that I will not allow you to become addicted to morphine under my care. There is no reason for you to be uncomfortable and suffer while you are here. I want you to have faith in my professional judgement. You are to stop refusing the morphine. It will aid in your recovery."

I hesitated before answering, but finally allowed myself to believe him. "Thank you, Doctor. I will trust your opinion and follow your treatment advice."

"I was informed that you are also an artist. A drawing pad was found in your belongings."

I smiled thinly. "No, I am a soldier. But I occasionally sketch."

"Then I recommend art as a therapeutic outlet for you. I believe you will find it useful to reflect your inner self. It will allow the wounds that we cannot see to heal as well."

The morphine doses prescribed by the Jesuit doctor immediately began easing my pain. It allowed me to rest comfortably and to begin slowly recovering. The initial doses Leone ordered were large before he began tapering them off almost immediately. They were small in comparison to the heroin doses that I had received, but were sufficient. I found the morphine pleasurable in a way I hadn't before when I had received it for my combat wounds.

I had much to reflect on during this time.

The remainder of the Afrika Korps had surrendered to the Americans and British only a few days after my evacuation. With much relief, I had learned that my unit had been among those whom surrendered. I found no small amount of peace in knowing that Hoffmann and my men were finally safe.

Much later, I discovered that Hoffmann and several others from my unit had been sent to a POW camp in Wyoming. It seemed fitting when I recalled my last conversation with Hoffmann.

A few days after my confession to Leone, I groggily awoke to having my dressings gently checked. At first I thought I was dreaming, but then the great pleasure of reality swept over me.

I gave a slow smile when I recognized the tall, attractive nurse attending to me.

"Fraulein von Stein," I said softly.

"So formal, Hauptmann Dietrich?" she lightly teased back, but just as formal. "After everything we've shared since Jufra?"

"It would be disrespectful for me not to address you properly since you are on duty."

I reached out and took her hand and gently clasped it before releasing it, the only affection I would allow myself to demonstrate while she was in uniform.

"Fraulein, you are definitely not the nun who was caring for me earlier. Have you recently arrived here?"

"I arrived not long after we saw each other last, Hauptmann. I requested to remain in Africa nursing, but as the situation continued to grow worse, I was evacuated to Italy. It was becoming too dangerous for any of the support staff."

I nodded.

"I wrote to you and explained my re-assignment. When I did not receive a response, I thought that I would never see you again."

"I did not receive your letters, Agathe." I could not prevent myself from using her given name. "Mail and all communications were very sporadic the last few months before I departed Tunisia. I was unaware of your escape to Italy."

"I thought as much, Hans," she responded, saying my given name softly so none of the nearby patients could hear her. "Today is my first day back after a few days off. As soon as I noticed your name on the patient list, I couldn't wait to see you."

"Agathe, you are like a ray of sunshine on a winter day to me: Unexpected and so welcoming to a broken man. My God, words cannot describe how much I have missed you."

"You are not as broken as you were at Jufra."

"Perhaps not, but I am now broken in a different way. I am not the same man," I added darkly, looking away from her. I was suddenly self-conscious. It was an odd feeling: I had not been uncomfortable nude around a woman since Elsa.

"Hans, your body is still as magnificent as that of a Teutonic god," Agathe reassured. "I will always be proud to be seen on your arm. A few scars will never change that and they mean nothing to me. I will walk by your side as you recover, and then I will never leave you."

Yes, and I knew Agathe was the right woman that I had mentioned to Leone.

I had known Agathe slightly before the war. She was from a prominent family in Hamburg, and my parents were distant friends of her family. We had been introduced a few times at various social events over the years, but neither of us had pursued anything further. Ironically, I had put little thought or meaning into the encounters at the time.

Our paths fatefully crossed again when I was recovering in a field hospital after the Battle of Jufra. Agathe had been certified as a nurse soon after the war began and assigned to the North African theatre. It was pure chance we had arrived at the same hospital at the same moment in time.

At this encounter, I was awake and sober enough to notice her.

Agathe was tall for a woman, only a few centimeters shorter than myself. Any doubts of her femininity were immediately dispelled by her curvaceous figure, honed from years of tennis and other athletics. She was a natural beauty with dark brunette hair and matching eyes in which any man could become lost. She normally wore her hair short, the tapered cut softening her strong jawline. Even though she could not have looked less like Irene, or Margot, I found myself taken with her.

We began casually corresponding when I returned home soon afterwards to convalescence. Our first letters were reserved, but became friendlier as the weeks passed. Then, their intensity greatly increased after we met in Benghazi for a few days during a lull in the war. Those days had become the first of many rendezvous' when the opportunities presented itself.

After several months, she was the primary woman to whom I wrote. I casually discounted the letters I received from other women and the majority of them went unanswered. I usually wrote to Agathe every evening if my combat duties permitted the indulgence. Through our letters, I grew to know her and I hoped to help her grow to know me. I shared with her my successes, along with my frustrations, particularly those of dealing with the Rat Patrol. Most importantly, we shared the everyday pleasures still to be found in life, even during a war, and what they meant to the each of us.

Agathe was blunt and straight forward. She openly showed her vibrant personality, her candid thoughts and desires, which she aggressively expressed when we made love. I was the aloof and reserved one, not readily showing myself to anyone. It took time to allow her to see my true self, the man I frequently hid behind a mask. It was a mask I wore as a disguise and for protection. And, I wore it at times to delude myself.

I fought against my deepening connection with Agathe. I had not wanted a serious relationship during the war when my death was a stark reality. I had promised myself and my father to not have any significant involvement with a woman until the war ended. I was married to my duty and I could not afford to have relationships that would make me forget that. I had easily placed my emotions aside when it came to the various women that I had casually encountered.

Only Margot had been the exception. But she had become Matthias Walther's wife and there could not be, nor would I allow, anything between Margot and myself. Eventually, Agathe was able to gradually pull me away from Margot, just as through Margot I had sought to forget the entrenched memories that I had held of Irene.

I found Agathe giving me the strength to survive, to keep living, to desire the upcoming dawn breaking in the morning. It was through her, that I eventually was able to place aside my former obsession with Margot, and it allowed me to frame my affair with Irene as what it had been. With Agathe, I was able to realize all the realities which she was able to offer me at this moment instead.

My moments with Agathe were normal and peaceful, a respite from the never ending reality of the war. It was true that we were very different, but we shared a common thread which drew me to her. She and I both faced death on a daily basis: I was killing men on the battlefield, and in turn, she was assisting to repair those the enemy had sought to kill.

Yes, Jufra was the significant event drawing us together, the mysterious unknown in life which could never be explained. I had won the Oak Leaves due to Jufra, but Jufra had also caused me to win Agathe.

I had asked myself on a few occasions if I was drawn to Agathe because she was the only woman with whom I had ever shared with death. This concern had returned again when I briefly held her hand just a few moments ago. Was I now even more drawn to her because she had seen my ruined body and was completely accepting of it?

I placed these thoughts aside, not wanting to sully the moment.


	13. Chapter 12

The Gestapo paid me a visit on the day I was to be released. I noticed Leone unexpectedly walk into the ward, checking on a few patients before he made his way to me. His face was tight and there was obviously something troubling him.

Leone was checking my pulse and vital signs when he urgently spoke in a low voice.

"Hauptmann, the Gestapo is here to see you. You will be summoned to see them within a few minutes," he informed me in quiet Latin as he wrote my pulse rate on a chart. "I wanted to give you a few minutes warning to compose your thoughts."

"I have done nothing illegal or anything against the Third Reich to warrant their visit," I replied honestly.

"True enough, but what do they believe? Their form of truth and reality is all they care about."

I couldn't stop my stomach from knotting. My mind immediately raced to heroin, and the relief Guest had promised it would provide me in stressful situations.

I struggled internally before the weakness finally won. My former resolve to never touch drugs again quickly evaporated.

"Doctor . . . I don't know how to ask . . ." I stammered, unsure of how to word my desire and need. "Would it be possible to receive morphine as a substitute given the circumstances? This one time? Just something small to . . ."

"No. Absolutely not," he replied harshly. There was a look that I could only read as disappointment in his eyes.

Hating myself, I looked at him almost pleading.

In answer, he shook his head. "I promised you that you would not become addicted to morphine under my care. I will not allow it even if Himmler himself was outside to question you. You have no need for it now no matter what the situation. I will issues instructions to the staff that you are no longer in pain and are not to receive any without my approval."

"I understand. You are correct, Doctor, to deny me. And I thank you for forcing me to be strong."

Leone patted my shoulder softly for reassurance. "God be with you. You already have all the strength you need without resorting to drugs. Have faith, Captain, in yourself and in the world."

Message delivered, Leone moved on and made the pretense of checking on other patients.

I quickly dressed in my uniform. I would not allow myself the indignity of being interrogated wearing only a hospital gown. I pulled out my drawing pad and began sketching the scene outside my window, more to calm my nerves than to actually be artistic. There was an instant hush in the ward when the two black-uniformed Gestapo agents made their appearance. I continued my sketching, pretending to be oblivious to their presence.

It took them only a few seconds to reach my bedside.

"Hauptmann Dietrich?"

There was no reason for them to confirm my identity. They knew exactly who they were addressing.

"Yes, gentlemen?" I answered, looking up at them only after I had completed a few additional lines, forcing them to wait until I was ready for them.

"You are to accompany us to see Herr Kriminalrat Lenz. He would like to ask you a few questions."

I gave them a short nod, and placed my sketchpad down on my bed. All eyes were upon us as we left the ward and I could hear a few faint prayers said on my behalf.

The two agents marched briskly down the hall, one on either side of me, not saying a word. After walking down several wards, we arrived at an office which they had commandeered for their purposes.

There was a lone Gestapo Kriminalrat sitting behind a large desk. He appeared to be approximately my age, but already had an extremely receding hairline. His complexion was as pale and pasty as if he had never seen the light of day. I couldn't help but notice how sharply his face contrasted with mine. I was burned almost as dark as a native from the constant and intense exposure of the North African sun.

"Heil Hitler!" he said crisply, as he stood up with his arm jutted unnaturally into the air.

I shouldn't have been, but I was taken off guard by the salute. I should have expected nothing else when meeting with the Gestapo.

I waited for the briefest instant before responding in kind, hiding my distaste for the action. "Heil Hitler!"

I never willingly gave the Nazi salute. I believed it bastardized the tradition and respect of honoring a superior with a traditional military salute. The only time in my life that I had enthusiastically given the Nazi salute was when I graduated from the Academy, nine years before.

Then, I had been caught up in the excitement of the moment. To graduate from such an institution was an accomplishment for anyone, let alone considering the difficulties that I had overcome my final seven months to earn my commission.

Hitler himself had been present at the graduation ceremony. It was an intoxicating moment to swear an oath of honor and loyalty directly to the leader of one's country. Yes, I had willingly sworn my allegiance and forfeited my soul to the devil himself. In hindsight, I realized that now.

Lenz looked at me with surprised approval. "It's good to see a Wehrmacht soldier finally responding with the proper salute respectful to the Fuhrer, Hauptmann Dietrich. It is long overdue."

"I am uncovered. Decorum and tradition prevents from giving a proper military salute. I am under obligation to provide an alternative salute given the circumstances," I explained frankly.

Now Lenz was frowning. "Why is the Nazi salute not good enough for you soldiers of the Wehrmacht, Hauptmann Dietrich?"

"I am merely informing you of the protocol of a standard salute which has been traditional for my branch of service, Kriminalrat Lenz." He glared at me, displeased with my explanation.

"Take a seat," he finally ordered, gesturing towards a hard, wooden chair placed squarely in front of the desk.

I did as I was asked and waited.

Lenz proceeded to stare at me for the next few minutes, openly testing me before he finally spoke.

"You are a true war hero of the Third Reich, Hauptmann Dietrich. I am nothing less than honored to be in your presence. Few men have accomplished what you have performed on the battlefield for the glory of the Fuhrer and the Fatherland."

I gave him a slight nod, acknowledging his flattery. I knew he was using it for his own purpose. He was not being sincere in the slightest.

"Your family must be proud of you, especially your father, a war hero himself. Speaking of your father, how is he these days? Doing well? I would have thought he would have ended his retirement to fight for the Thousand Year Reich. Truly a shame! Can you tell me why he hasn't? There are few men who possess his talent of leadership and skill on the battlefield."

I shrugged. "You would need to ask my father your questions directly. I have not discussed his continued retirement with him."

"I heard you are not close with your father, but I will take you up on your suggestion. I believe I will drop by and visit him the next time I am in the vicinity of Coburg. I have never had the pleasure of meeting him. It will be an honor to do so. I am positive that I will have an interesting conversation with him. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to meet the rest of your family at the same time?"

The thinly veiled threat against my family was unmistakable.

I would not allow him to intimidate me. And the thought of Lenz intimidating my father was laughable. Even though he belonged to the Gestapo, he had no idea who he was going up against in regards to my father. My father had connections and friends, in and out of, the National Socialist Party. Lenz could not even imagine what the consequences would be of getting on the wrong side of my father, not even in his worst nightmare. If anything, I thought, Lenz should be intimidated by my father.

I looked Lenz directly in the eye. "Yes, I would appreciate you looking in on them. I have not heard from them for the last few months. The mail situation in Africa had become unpredictable long before I was airlifted to Italy. And I am sure that my family would be duly honored by your visit. To the best of my knowledge, they have never received a visit from a Gestapo agent before to merely confirm their well-being." My false gratitude was transparent, even to Lenz.

"Ah, yes! I do understand how precious mail is to you front-line soldiers. I would like to give you something as a token of our friendship, to show how much the Gestapo cares about our brothers-in-arms in the Wehrmacht who are so gallantly fighting for the Fuhrer."

Lenz made a production of placing his briefcase on the desk and slowly unlatching the clasps. He proceeded to open it and pull out a thick stack of letters bundled together with twine. He placed it on the desk, just out of my reach. I recognized my father's strong handwriting on the top letter. It was obvious the letters had been opened and read by Lenz or one of his subordinates.

"You seem to be very popular, Hauptmann Dietrich. Forgive me for being so bold, but I couldn't help but glance through your letters. Your letters are from family members, friends, Eberhardt Schnass – there is a name from the past! – and not to mention a few, ahem, women," he added with a wink. "They are certainly forward in what they write."

"I believe you are here for a different reason than delivering letters and discussing my popularity, Kriminalrat Lenz." I was through with his cat and mouse game. "Just why are you here?"

Lenz broadly smiled and nodded, acknowledging the boldness of my question. He wasted no time addressing his true motive.

"Your popularity extends way beyond German nationals. You are also popular with a certain Allied commando group which was located in your area of operation. I believe it is called the Rat Patrol."

"You are correct."

"What can you tell me about this commando group?"

"I have filed numerous and extensive reports, Kriminalrat Lenz, regarding my encounters with them. I would be surprised if you have not already reviewed them."

"You are a clever man, Hauptmann Dietrich, staying a step ahead of me." Lenz waggled a finger at me like he was addressing a particularly naughty child. "You are correct, I _have_ read your reports. Humor me, though, and give me a brief summary in your own words."

I spent the next few minutes presenting a high level overview of the Rat Patrol and its operation, taking care not to add anything I hadn't documented in one of my reports. After the brief summary, I stopped and waited for Lenz, knowing he would prompt me for any missing information that he deemed as necessary.

"If I understand your reports correctly, your unit captured soldiers of the Rat Patrol several times and yet they always managed to escape. Why didn't you execute them immediately? You more than anyone should have been aware of the Fuhrer's order regarding commandos and how you were 'handle' them should they be captured. Why didn't you follow this order?"

"There has never been a dispute about me following any of my orders, Herr Lenz. This includes following orders considered to be suicide missions," I said in a dangerous voice.

"I was temporarily reporting to Oberst Otto Neumann for a special assignment during this engagement period. His standing order was to capture any members of the Rat Patrol in the future instead of killing them. His goal was to have them interrogated to provide useful information on their operations. Oberst Neumann never rescinded his orders, even after the Fuhrer's orders were gradually disseminated."

It was a small exaggeration of the truth, but was one I knew could not be substantiated nor refuted. Neumann had surrendered weeks ago to the Americans and it would be impossible for him to deny our conversation took place. Knowing Neumann, he purposely would not have documented any of our conversation that could possibly return to haunt him.

Of course I knew the details of Hitler's order, down to the smallest minutiae. However, I never would have acknowledged this to Lenz. Rommel had never passed on the order to his subordinates, believing it to be dishonorable. Rommel and I had even discussed it during a private meeting where he had plainly stated that he would not enforce it. Over time, though, the order had become common knowledge for those fighting against the commandos.

I was not dense enough to inform Lenz of our conversation. I knew Rommel was not well and I was not going to add to his difficulties.

I personally considered Hitler's commando order to be a war crime, not to mention repugnant. I never would have fulfilled it even if Hitler had given the order to me directly. Hitler had never been an officer and had no concept of holding oneself to a high level of honorable conduct. I was willing to hold my professional career, and my life, to a standard that Hitler could never understand.

Lenz, obviously realizing that he was getting nowhere, soon changed his tactics. "Why did you request to stay in North Africa when you were ordered evacuated to Italy due to your injuries? Surrender for your unit and the remnants of the Afrika Korps was imminent. I think the normal officer would have desired to regroup in order to prepare for going on the offensive against the enemy again."

What an ass, I thought, as I kept my face impassive. Lenz had no concept of Germany's reality or even what it meant to be a commanding officer. There would be no regrouping, not now, not later.

"I had led and shared victories with my men. It was only right for me to share in their defeat. I requested to remain with my men for this reason."

"Wouldn't you agree, Hauptmann, the situation is to say the very least . . . odd. Put yourself in my position. What would you think? I mean, there have been . . . what polite term should I use? I know . . . Discussions about you and the Rat Patrol for the last several months."

I started to rise from the chair, but forced myself to sit down

"Collusion with the enemy? The suggestion is ludicrous and find it insulting to even have it directed towards with me."

It was impossible for Lenz to misread my anger but he continued to press the issue. He spread his hands.

"But how else you could explain your results? Many of your missions involving the Rat Patrol ended in failure, sometimes at a great loss to the Reich. And what about the ease of Sergeant Troy always escaping under your authority?"

I noticed that he used Troy's name even though I had purposely not mentioned it during my oral debrief a few minutes ago. I was quiet, waiting to see what else Lenz knew.

Lenz leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers together. "If Troy is so adept at escaping from you, then why was he unable to escape from Guest?"

"Sergeant Troy was incapable of even walking given the extreme torture he had received at the hands of Guest. Besides, the strength of the Rat Patrol, is their cohesion as a team. Sergeant Troy was its leader, but each man brought to it his unique ability. It would be more difficult for Sergeant Troy to escape alone than it would be for him to escape together with his team."

"But then why did you assist Sergeant Troy to escape? The logical course of action was to allow him to be killed in captivity."

"I needed Sergeant Troy. He was the only witness available to confirm my unauthorized disappearance."

"Fair enough. But after he provided your alibi you could have followed the Fuhrer's orders and executed him. But you did not. And now, he is free again. He probably will be reassigned to another theatre against the Third Reich."

I shrugged my shoulders. Lenz would never understand the code of honor which bound me to being a German officer.

"I highly doubt Sergeant Troy will be retained in service given the severity of his wounds," I told Lenz. "The United States has more than enough resources to compensate for his withdrawal. It would not be necessary for him to continue serving against Germany, or even Japan, for that matter." Lenz's face tightened at my faint hint at the dwindling resources of Germany.

"Why didn't you try to escape earlier?" I could tell that Lenz was becoming exasperated since the meeting was not following his plan.

"An opportunity to escape did not present itself earlier. Besides, I was heavily sedated when I was not being interrogated." The conversation was becoming more and more farcical. I wondered how much longer Lenz was going to attempt to lead me down the rabbit hole.

Lenz suddenly sat upright and leaned across the desk. "Ah! So you were sedated? With what?"

"Morphine," I lied.

"You've disappeared quite a bit over the years, Dietrich. In Paris and at the Battle of Adiri. Yes, the Gestapo is very much aware of these disappearances. I can only wonder about how many disappearances that have not come to our attention. But now we have this particular disappearance, which comes to light at a key moment and which involves the Rat Patrol leader.

"I gave you my explanation."

"Yes, but even then, it can only raise the question about your dedication to the Reich. Your delay in escaping from Guest, to assist a known and dangerous enemy of the Reich."

"Do you honestly believe that I endured three days of torture and interrogation to collude with Sergeant Troy?" I resisted the urge to show Lenz my back as proof as to what I had suffered. "Is that honestly what you believe?"

"It surely couldn't have been too bad." Lenz inclined his head. "I mean, you were given morphine when you weren't being tortured. It was rather considerate of Guest to provide you with pain medication."

My anger boiled to the surface. I could no longer prevent myself from slowly rising from my chair. My unexpected action startled Lenz and he sat back, the unmistakable look of fear crossing his face.

I quickly unbuttoned my blouse and ripped it off. I was not wearing an undershirt since it was too tight against my still healing flesh. I could hear the two men behind me audibly gasp when they saw the extent of the damage to my body.

I stood over Lenz, pointing out the numerous scars I had obtained in combat.

"This scar I received in France during the opening days of the war," I said, indicating the neat bullet wound on my right upper arm. "The one here from the siege of Tobruk." I moved my hand to my hair, parting it. "If you shaved my head, you would see where an English bullet came within a few millimeters of ending my life at the Second Battle of El Alamein."

I then drew his attention to the large jagged scar on my left side. "I received this reminder at the Battle of Jufra, where I held the left flank at a tremendous cost to my men and equipment before finally pushing the British back behind their lines. It was considered a suicidal maneuver and my leadership and bravery were recognized." Saving the worst for last. I turned my back to Lenz. "And finally, I received my latest souvenir for protecting the integrity of the Reich from a voracious mad man."

Lenz audibly choked at the sight of the damage. Unseen were the internal emotional scars I carried which were just as much, if not more so, horrific.

I stood there for a few moments, forcing him to take in the raw wound, latticed with the few shreds of flesh which remained. I glared at the other two men, who wouldn't meet my eyes. I finally turned to again face Lenz. I noticed that he had turned a shade paler, something that I wouldn't have believed was possible.

"You be the judge, Lenz, if what I just shared with you supports your belief that my situation with Guest was 'not too bad' and if I endured all of it a moment longer than I had to for the sake of collusion." Calmly, I slipped on my blouse and began buttoning it before tucking it into my trousers. "Now show me your scars, the ones you have received in combat, for your service to Germany and to the Fuhrer."

Lenz sat quietly, not making a move.

"It is as I thought. You have nothing to show. I have willingly and loyally engaged in combat, ordered my men to their deaths and have almost been killed myself on numerous occasions. I have been nothing but a loyal and dedicated soldier to Germany since I received my commission in 1934." I leaned down to look Lenz in the eye. "The Fuhrer and Generalfeldmarschall Rommel are of the same opinion. Generalfeldmarschall Rommel recommended me for the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves and the Fuhrer personally signed the commendation. Tell me: Are you even remotely questioning the judgement and wisdom of the Fuhrer along with the opinion of his favorite general?"

I was met with stony silence. I had neatly boxed Lenz into a corner. I was now finished with the conversation.

I reached over and lightly took the bundle of mail, smiling as I did so.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for assisting me with my past due correspondence. Your consideration is greatly appreciated. If you have no further questions for me, I will excuse myself. I am scheduled to be released shortly. I will be receiving my next set of orders immediately. No doubt I will return to a front to once again engage in active combat for the Reich. I sincerely doubt that we will meet again."

I gave them a short nod before leaving, refusing to debase myself again by giving them a Nazi salute. I slowly returned to the ward, fully confident that I would not hear from the Gestapo again.

I was now ready to return to combat.


	14. Chapter 13

I was released from the hospital shortly after my meeting with the Gestapo. They made no effort to halt my release. We both knew they had no reason to hold me further for questioning. If anything, my honorable and dedicated service had made theirs all that much more pathetic.

I had been granted five days furlough before I was due to report for duty in France. Five days of pushing the war aside, living without the reality of killing or the thought of being killed. Five days to deal with the heroin addiction which still lurked within me. Five days to kill the shameful carnal desire Guest had awakened within me.

I was walking down a narrow side street, making my way to a small hotel which would offer the solitude and privacy I craved. By my side was Agathe, able to share my furlough with me. Father Leon had compassionately adjusted her duty schedule to enable us some precious time together before my departure.

All of the time we had spent together since we had been reunited, Agathe and I had shown nothing but restraint. Only professional respect had passed between the two of us. We had shared no light caresses, no lingering touches, not a knowing look promising something more when we were alone. . .

I was ready to put an end to the façade and I had no doubts Agathe was, as well. After being so near one another for the last few weeks, we could not stop but give in to one another.

We reached a private area of the roadway with no one around us. My arms went around her body and I kissed her. As the kiss continued, I pulled Agathe close to me. It nearly seemed like a miracle, something which during my darkest days I had thought I may never live to feel again.

I held a beautiful woman's body. A body I craved. I could feel the stirring of physical desire.

Touching Agathe, savoring her taste, thinking of. . .

Guest.

Damn Guest to Hell for what he had taken, and given to me! He had raped me of my naiveté and taken my self-respect, leaving behind the knowledge of the power of the sexual pleasure which could transpire between two men. It was a lesson I would never forget. How could I, when the pleasure I had felt at his hands and his mouth was destined to become the measuring stick for my sexual satisfaction.

It begged an unpleasant question: Would Agathe, or any woman, physically satisfy me to the same level as Guest had done?

The moment of my self-doubt was shattered by a car horn. Agathe and I hurriedly separated, straightening our clothing. We were blocking the narrow street, preventing a car from passing. We pressed ourselves to the wall, allowing the car enough room to pass. The driver proceeded to drive by slowly, but not before he shouted a few things out the open window to me, a grin on his face.

"What did he say?" asked Agathe, smiling to the motorist, as she smoothed her hair.

I found myself slightly coloring. "He suggested it would be safer if we move our activities indoors, and away from the street," I politely only partially translated.

I lightly kissed her hand before releasing it. "Shall we at least take one of his suggestions?" With a wicked grin, I motioned her forward and we continued up the street to the hotel.

"Oh?" Agathe gave me a knowing grin. "Which one?"

"You'll see," I promised.

Laughing, we quickened out pace. With the incentive our brief embrace had provided, it wasn't long until we had reached our destination.

One would never suspect a hotel was at the far end. Still well maintained despite the war, the hotel's entrance was through a lush courtyard, making it appear to be a private residence. The gardens were blooming and the air was filled with the scent of jasmine and lilies. Their heavy scent carried into the lobby.

The lobby was intimate with a small, but well stocked, bar to the side. Waiters in smart jackets worked the room, serving drinks to handsome couples lounging on the well-placed sofas. I saw no Wehrmacht soldiers, but I had not expected any to be staying here given the hotel's seclusion and expensive rates. I had no desire to meet any of my fellow officers. I wanted nothing more than to focus solely on Agathe.

We approached the front desk and a look of recognition crossed the owner's face.

"Ah! Signor Dietrich! It has been a few years since I have had the good fortune to see you. Good to see you have not forgotten us," he said in heavily accented German. He leaned towards me. "And the lady! Even more lovely than the last one," he added softly in Italian, with a wink.

"She is, indeed," I said, smiling at Agathe. "Very much so." I turned my attention back to the owner. "Do you have a room available?"

"Of course, of course! For you, Signor Dietrich, there is always a room available!" He quickly looked at the registry before sliding it towards me. "Your usual room? It is currently vacant. I remember you valuing your privacy." He again looked at Agathe and gave me another wink.

I nodded. The owner gathered the key while I signed the registry.

"I believe you know the way, Signor Dietrich?" He picked up our small bags and indicated the stairs.

I had always preferred this room. It was off to the side at the end of the hallway, and overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. Best of all, it was private, with no other rooms nearby. The owner opened the door and placed the bags inside.

I slipped him several Reischsmarks as he handed me the key.

"We desire not to be disturbed," I told him.

"I will notify the staff, Signor Dietrich," he said solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye. The owner glanced over to Agathe. She had walked over to a table to place her handbag down. He nodded towards her. "Enjoy your stay."

I locked the door behind him. Finally, we were alone.

I threw my cover on a chair and turned to admire her.

The late afternoon light shone through the open window, catching Agathe in its glow. The sun brought out the subtle bronze highlights in her short hair. I could see the outline of her body through her thin clothing. The full hips, the long legs and what lie between them, beckoning to me.

I found myself aroused by merely looking at her. As much as I desired, no _needed_ her, I would give Agathe the respect she deserved. I restrained myself from tearing off her clothing and taking her immediately.

As Agathe marveled at the beauty of the ocean, the waves rising, cresting and lapping at the beach, I stole up behind her.

I slipped my arms around her, gathering her in an embrace, feeling the body I desired pressed against mine. I began kissing her neck. Her light feminine scent was intoxicating. So different than the heavy, artificial odor of Guest.

"Would you like dinner delivered to our room?" My lips continued their slow path up her neck. I brushed aside her hair, my fingers marveling at its silkiness. My kisses were persistent, lingering at the intersection of her ear and jaw.

Her smile stirred the muscles which lay beneath the skin my mouth was worrying.

"Mmmm . . . I believe I could be persuaded to consider such an idea."

Nearly purring, Agathe tilted her head to the side, allowing my roving lips greater access. Her cool fingers caressed the warm skin on my jaw for a moment before slowly tilting my chin upwards. Her lips found mine, light pressure soon giving way to the insistence of a tongue. As the strength and depth of our kisses grew, so did my passion.

I needed more than just a kiss. I needed to be with a woman, this woman. I yearned for the satisfaction which Agathe could bring me, a sensation completely unlike anything that I had felt at the hands of Guest—

I calmed myself with a deep breath. As I exhaled, I pushed everything but Agathe from my mind. With renewed focus, I considered how I should begin unwrapping the marvelous gift I had been given. The anticipation was even sweeter, as I knew what laid beneath.

I undid her blouse with a deliberate slowness, it's thin buttons easily slipping through my fingers, before pulling the hem from the confines of her skirt. Parting the material, I pushed it from her shoulders. The unwelcome garment slid down her arms, falling to pool on the floor.

Hands calloused from the work of war, rasped across the curve of her waist, as rough as they would have been across the silk of her discarded blouse. Gently, my fingers climbed up her smooth back. The clasp of her brassiere was hardly an obstacle in my path. With a practiced flick of my fingers, the band parted. I let the delicate undergarment fall aside. It landed to nest upon her blouse.

Agathe laid bare was a beautiful sight, a balm for my abused masculine soul. After a moment to admire, my hands covered her, the fullness of her breasts thrusting against my waiting hands.

With a slow rotation of my palms, I teased the soft globes until the nipples crowning them became engorged and hard enough to bite into my skin. As much as I loved the sensation of the soft yearning flesh straining against me, I radiated my caresses outwards with feathering strokes. When my fingers climbed to the peaks, I caught the pointed tips between my fingers, pinching and pulling.

Agathe gasped, her nipples lengthening and tightening. Had her gasps not given way to moans of pleasure, I might have suspected my attentions were causing her pain.

Her kisses became deeper, more insistent, more demanding. With one of her hands on my shoulder, the other at the base of my neck, she pulled herself more tightly against me.

I began a slow journey down her body, traveling a trail I already knew so well. The smooth valley of her waist led to the curvature of her hip, then to a length of taut thigh. Down I traveled, until I caught the hem of Agathe's skirt, rucking it.

Hidden under her skirt, my fingers again began their leisurely ascent. I paused to stroke the supple skin of Agathe's inner thigh, warm and bare of stockings. My hand tarried there for several seconds, before continuing its purposeful roaming. Soon enough, I had reached the edge of her panties, the thin barrier of fragile silk protecting the treasure which I so insistently sought.

Delicately, I began rubbing her. With a tip of a forefinger, I slowly circled what lay beneath the already damp fabric. I repeated the motion slowly, again, and then again. A mewling noise and the flexing of Agathe's hips made it plain she wanted more than just the teasing flicking glance of my fingers.

Gladly, I gave it to her. Rhythmically, I worked the now sodden fabric into the chink of her sex, my thumb beating an accompanying light steady rhythm against her clitoris.

Agathe panted, grinding and straining against my hand. I could smell her arousal, the heady, earthy scent of a woman, willing and ready to be taken. In response, my desire flamed, burning to new heights.

It was all I could do to resist the urge to lay her back and bury my face between her thighs.

I knew from experience it would be the work of a mere moment to get Agathe off in that way. But as much as I knew she would enjoy it, it wasn't what I wanted.

Instead, I contented myself with fantasy. I imagined the tip of my tongue replacing my fingers, picturing perfectly her surprisingly violent reaction to the most delicate and intimate of caresses. At the thought of how, Agathe taste as she burst and broke under my mouth, I felt myself leaping, twitching, and growing even harder.

There was no denying it. My excitement was as great as hers.

But still, I restrained myself.

Unhurriedly, I continued massaging her, feeling her, bringing her to life. A ragged sigh escaped her and she opened her legs wide, allowing me greater access.

My hand slipped inside her panties.

Delicately, I stroked open her lips, splitting them, dipping between them to find what hid so well. She was dripping wet, moisture seeping from her and slicking my fingers as they were welcomed inside of her.

I began pleasuring Agathe in earnest.

"Yes. . ." escaped her in barely a whisper.

Her hand soon joined mine, guiding me as I found the right tempo. I plunged in and out of her, following the rhythm she had set.

I curled my fingers inside of her and she stiffened and strained, her back arching. Agathe was close, so very close.

"No, not yet." I gently denied her as I slowed my motions. "The pleasure will be all that much more intense if delayed. Wait."

"I'm not sure I can." Agathe moaned. "It's been too long, Hans."

"Much too long," I agreed, barely able to bite back an answering groan of my own as she clamped down on my fingers.

I was enjoying giving Agathe pleasure, even more, witnessing her pleasure at my hand. My arousal continued to grow along with hers. Senses sharpened, the indescribable feeling of being aroused to the point of madness—

As denied her, there was no denying myself. I needed a woman to fulfill me.

Agathe knew. She began touching me through my trousers, seductively exploring, seeking to reciprocate the pleasure she was receiving. She lightly rubbed me through the thin fabric, as if assessing what she might find underneath.

Just as Guest had done before he. . .

A memory flashed through my mind. It was the memory of Guest's first explorations, when he had fondled me in a similar way, the prelude to the overture of an astonishing climax.

Suddenly, doubt impeded upon my pleasure. Could Agathe do the same?

Distracted, I unintentionally paused my actions. A whimper escaped Agathe.

As if aware of my conflicts, she turned to face me. Hunger lurked in her dark eyes, the desire echoed by her flushed skin. She reached up to my blouse, carefully undoing each button, drawing out her movements before shucking the blouse from my shoulders.

Her fingers moved along my chest, stroking it, unconsciously tracing the numerous, jagged scars which shone starkly white against my tanned skin. She bent down, capturing a nipple, her tongue gently teasing it until it was hard. I closed my eyes, savoring her delicate touch as she moved to the other one, repeating her actions.

While still sucking on me, her deft hands slid down my chest to my waist. Slowly, she undid my belt and trousers. Kneeling, she removed one boot and then the other before sliding my trousers and shorts down my hips. She gave my dick a light lick before removing my clothing, leaving me wonderfully exposed to her.

Agathe compelled me to sit in a nearby chair. Standing in front of me, she bent down and took my face between her hands. Her lips grazed mine, her tongue darting into my mouth before she began to trail kisses down my neck and chest. Again, she stopped to again tease each nipple. Her hand sliding down between my legs, she began to stroke me. Lips following hands, her kisses reached my abdomen. She parted my thighs and sank to her knees between them.

"I know what you need, Hans, what you want from me."

"Yes, Agathe. Give it to me. I must have it now. . ."

I closed my eyes, relishing the anticipation of what I was about to experience. Deliciously powerlessness in my lust, I embraced her desire to dominate me. Mein Gott! How I needed her at this moment to prove myself as a man.

Her mouth was beautiful, dripping wet, accepting and inviting. Her tongue reached out to touch and taste, hesitating before it began dancing around the head, exploring, every movement calculated to build my pleasure.

A sharp gasp escaped me when Agathe began to slowly suck. The pressure was gentle, persistent, and gratifying, just as it had always been in the past. Her other hand fondled my balls, layering sensation upon sensation, creating a symphony of pleasure. I couldn't stop myself from pushing myself further into her mouth wanting her to take me completely.

My head dropped back as I was overcome by the indescribable sensation of being engulfed by the warm, willing, and talented mouth of a woman whose only goal was to bring me to the heights of ecstasy.

I was beginning to ascend towards the peak more quickly than normal. My heart rate was increasing and my breathing became more labored. The only sounds in the room were my rasping pants and the moist sucking of her luscious mouth.

"Yes, oh yes!" My hands tangled in her hair, urging Agathe on. "So close!"

Agathe gave an answering hum of encouragement.

"Oh, God. Please! Don't stop. Finish me, make me cum!" My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

The begging plea sounded vaguely familiar.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I had originally said the words to Guest.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. Had it only been a few weeks before?

From far off, I could hear her voice. "Come in my mouth, Hans. Give it to me! I want everything you have to offer. I want to hear how much you're enjoying me."

Raising my head, I opened my eyes and looked down at the person between my thighs. I wanted to lock eyes with her when I came, for her to see the power and enjoyment she had given me.

But it was not Agathe I saw.

It was Guest.

In a flash, I was transported back to the horror I had experienced in Ater. I was no longer in a plush room being pleasured by a beautiful woman. Instead, I found myself in a dank basement being tortured and abused by a sick man.

This time, I was unable to remove Guest from my mind.

The pleasure I had been experiencing by Agathe's skill began to recede. What had previously felt so right suddenly felt—

Off.

God help me, I began comparing Agathe's efforts to those of Guest's.

Agathe was suddenly hard-lipped and hollow-mouthed when compared to my memory of swirling caresses of Guest's agile tongue and the enveloping warm, soft darkness of his mouth. Moving too fast, Agathe was not allowing me the opportunity to enjoy what she was doing.

Actions which had always satisfied me in the past, but now felt jarring and unnatural.

It wasn't what I wanted, no matter how I much adored the giver.

It was nothing at all comparable to the pleasure I had received from one who I had hated.

Agathe continued for several minutes with little results to show for her labor. Despite her dedicated efforts, I had no choice but to admit I wasn't going to climax. As she began to tire, her actions became harsher and even less pleasurable.

My hands, cupping her chin and jaw, I attempted to guide her, willing her to slow and soften her mouth.

Instead, my efforts seemed to only increase her anxiety about finishing me. She began escalating her efforts.

Embarrassingly, I began to soften. It was something which had happened to me only a few times in my entire life. And then, only when I had been very drunk. And never under the focused attention of a skilled woman's mouth.

I cursed myself for falling short in this essential test of my manhood. The worst of it was, not only had I failed myself, but also Agathe.

What man wouldn't kill to have a beautiful, willing woman taking all he had to offer? At this moment, I had more than any normal man could dream of desiring.

But then, I wasn't a normal man any longer.

Was I?

I was unable to stop thinking of Guest and his talents. He had known exactly how to pleasure me, making me cum with so little effort.

Something snapped within me for what I had allowed to occur in Ater. It mattered little that I had not invited it. What mattered was that I had actually _enjoyed_ what had been done to me by another man.

And of all men, I had allowed myself to enjoy it with Guest. I despised myself for my weakness and the desire which still burned along with the tragic ashes of the memory.

I needed Agathe's body, and not just physically. I needed her to prove, without a shadow of a doubt, what I was not. I had to prove the episode with Guest, no matter how pleasurable, could be repeated just as incredibly with a woman.

And, I would.

A violent desire swept through me, as dark as anything I had ever felt. I wanted to use Agathe, to pry her legs apart and to dive between them, burying myself to the hilt in the wetness and warmth and the sensation that could only come with fucking a woman hard.

I pushed her off me and stood. Surprised by my sudden action, Agathe stumbled backwards, her expression questioning.

Before she could give voice to her thoughts, I grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her, propelling her forward. I pushed her down onto the table, her upper body lying prone across the polished surface.

Agathe was a strong woman and attempted to rise, but I was stronger. I pinned her in place, a forearm across her back as I hiked her skirt, exposing her glorious ass. Soon, I had it laid bare. The tiny stiches holding the silk and lace together had offered no protection from my desire.

I thrust my hand between her legs. Despite her noises of protest, I found Agathe as deliciously wet as she had been before. I twisted my fingers inside of her. Soon, they coated my palm.

Moving my hand to my own length, I slicked myself with her moisture, and my mind jumped to Ater and the memory of the sinful pleasure gained from my mind-numbing debasement. In mere moments, I found myself harder than I had ever been before.

I forced Agathe's thighs apart with my knee, opening my way to the path I desired. With one hand, I grabbed hold of her hips, steadying her. With the other, I guided myself to her entrance.

One fluid, powerful motion later, I was sheathed up to the hilt.

Agathe gasped, startled by the abruptness with which I had taken her. She started to say something.

I reached up, clapping my hand across her mouth to silence her. I had no interest in listening to her words.

My only interest was in taking her body.

And such a body! Never had Agathe felt so exquisite. In her shock, Agathe had gone still, but her muscles had tightened to relentlessly clutch at every centimeter of me. With no barriers between us, the tight hot embrace was beyond compare. With great effort, I held myself still, savoring the feeling of being inside her.

Regaining her senses, Agathe started struggling. Trying to escape what she no longer desired now that it was being forced upon her, she writhed and pushed against me. As her movements became more and more desperate, an answering response, equally as desperate, rose within me.

It quickly became more than I could stand. With a growl, I began to fuck her.

At first, I contented myself with slow measured movements. Quickly, I found myself wanting more. I took it from Agathe with deep plunging thrusts.

Eyes closed and my head thrown my head back, I relished a pleasure which I was now certain could only come from one source. Any doubt of me being able to achieve satisfaction with Agathe, or with any woman, had dissipated.

The hard slap of skin against skin punctuated the end of my every thrust, accompanied only by the desperate sounds of my labored breathing. My fingers bit into flesh, finding purchase. I pushed and pulled her hips to meet mine as I buried myself deeper and deeper, into her beautiful body.

As my pleasure increased, so did my tempo. I willed myself to slow down, to take my own earlier advice. But, I was unable, unwilling, to do so.

The all too familiar delicious feelings had begun to rise, bringing with them the tightening of the muscles in my lower body. Fire ran along my nerves, pooling in my groin before traveling the length of my cock. I had reached the point of no return.

I could not deny myself any longer. I came hard, crying out as I did so, nearly sobbing in utter abandon at the joy of my release.

A few more thrusts and I collapsed on top of her, breathing as heavily as if I had just out run a demon which had been chasing me.

Which, with Agathe's help, I had.

When she attempted to move, I stilled her. I did not want her to unseat me. I did not want anything to mar the beautiful sensations I was still experiencing.

Finally, my racing heart slowed, and my breathing calmed and deepened. It was only after I softened did I allow her to move. I released my hold on Agathe, enfolding her into my arms. My cheek rested on her back, and I could feel the warm swell of her body as she breathed. I gently began kissing her smooth skin.

"Thank you," I whispered to her, "for what you gave me, for what you allowed me to take. It is what I wanted. And, it was what I needed."

Agathe said nothing.

Yes, I had proved my masculinity. I had regained everything which Guest had stolen from me, but Agathe had paid the price for its recovery.

I slipped out of her and abruptly pulled on my shorts and trousers. Going to my bag, I pulled out a bottle of brandy. Taking two glasses from the sideboard, I poured us generous measures. I downed mine in a single take.

I refilled my glass and immediately shot it back again.

My back still towards her, I leaned forward letting the heavy piece of furniture take my weight as I steadied myself. After a moment, I raised my head.

In the reflection of the gilded mirror, I watched Agathe as she recovered.

As she pushed herself up from the table, I could see the evidence of my pleasure thick and opaque, trickling down her thighs. She started to pull up her panties. Finding they were ruined, she instead wiped herself with them before discarding them into the waste can. Then, she pulled her skirt down, her fingers absently trying to smooth the wrinkles.

The entire time, Agathe had not uttered a word. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the derision and hatred which would surely come.

Finally, she looked up, her eyes on the reflection of my own.

I was deeply disgraced. I wanted to look away, to hang my head in shame at what I had become, but I forced myself to look her in the eye.

She crossed the room, her expression preoccupied, her focus on my back.

I had not felt self-conscious when she had changed my dressings professionally in the hospital. Now in a private setting, I was suddenly embarrassed for her to see my external lesions. I reached into my bag for a blouse and slipped it on, quickly tucking it into my trousers.

"You certainly took what you wanted, Hans," Agathe said.

Not meeting her eyes, I nodded, reaching for the brandy again. There was no arguing it.

"Has it been that long since you've had sex? I mean, we both agreed that given our separation, we could be with others. There was no need for your actions."

"Actually, it hasn't been that long since I've been with a woman," I admitted. Yes, there had been numerous women, but only one man.

She reached for her brandy. I frankly expected her to throw her drink in my face and leave. Instead, she drank it down before placing the glass down firmly on the sideboard.

"What happened when you were a prisoner?" Agathe asked.

I turned to face her, but only to refill her glass.

She studied me intently, her expression hard.

I ran my hand through my hair.

"You are very much aware that I was tortured, Agathe."

"Something else happened. Something you are not sharing. You have always been an intense lover. But this time, this time you were like a man possessed, Hans. It was as if you wanted to take something from me for yourself."

I reached for my cigarettes, and promptly lit two, handing her one. I sharply blew a stream of smoke to the ceiling.

"I would have freely offered you anything, if I'd only known what to give. Tell me what happened," she pressed. "I can help you."

She had helped me, but I was not about to share how or why. "I don't discuss the particulars of the war with women, Agathe. Not you, not my mother, not with my sister. Not with any woman. You are very much aware of my stance."

Agathe smoked in silence as she waited for something more.

Indecision and shame rose within me. Agathe knew nothing of my heroin addiction or my sexual encounter with a man. I knew I could never, and would never, share these two defining moments with her.

Gathering my strength and my resolve, I finally turned to face her.

"You well know I almost died when I was tortured. And you've seen how the abuse ruined my body. But really, that was the least of it." I paused, carefully choosing my words, "More so, it impacted my mind. Like the scars on my back, I'll carry the memories of it with me always."

Agathe nodded. "It would be expected." Her voice was clinical, as if she was talking to me as my nurse instead of as my lover. "Perhaps, it would help if we talked?"

There was nothing I wanted to do less. "I will say nothing more. I am unwilling, and unable, to share any further details with you."

I stubbed out my cigarette, signifying the end of the conversation.

We spoke little after that, both lost in our own thoughts. For lack of anything better to do, we went down to dinner. There was no longer any need to have it sent to our room as originally planned.

The owner was surprised to see us, immediately recognizing the tension between Agathe and myself. He raised an eyebrow in question, but receiving no answer left us to ourselves and to our miseries.

As we dined, long silences were punctuated by infrequent words. Agathe excused herself before coffee. I was almost relieved to see her go.

As I sat there alone, crushing regret weighed upon me. Regret at what could never be undone, regret at what I had done. As much as Guest had made a victim of me, I had in turn made Agathe mine. It was a thing, which even in my darkest hours, I could have never imagined myself doing.

Though, courtesy of Guest, I admitted the list of those things was becoming longer every day . . .

With a startling and sickening clarity, I finally recognized Guest's true end game. It hadn't really been about the gold. Ultimately, his goal had been to obliterate everything which had defined me as a soldier, and as a man. Methodically, he had determined all those things which I had held dear about myself. Using every trick in his arsenal, he had worked to turn them all against me in order to achieve his goal of destroying the man I was.

In the end, it seemed Guest had succeeded in accomplishing his objective.

That realization alone filled me with more self-loathing than anything else which I had suffered at his hands.

I indulged in self-hatred and very fine cognac for quite some time, until a gentle hand touched my shoulder. It was the owner, letting me know that due to the late hour, the bar would be closing.

The thought of returning to my room, and seeing the man I had become reflected in Agathe's eyes was more than I could bear. I inquired if there was another room available.

The owner regretfully informed me there was not. I thanked him and bid him goodnight.

I hesitated at the stairs, unwilling to face Agathe and the consequences of what I become. But, there was no avoiding it. I hoped I at least had enough strength of my former character remaining to meet what awaited me with grace.

Mercifully, Agathe was in bed when I returned. I slowly showered, prolonging the time before it would be necessary for me to join her in the large bed.

Unable to delay anymore, I slid under the cool sheets, careful not to touch her.

I had no idea if she was awake or had already fallen asleep. Regardless, what I had to say needed to be said.

"I used you, in a way which I would have never even contemplated using a common whore. I should have made love to you properly, in the way that you deserve," I said softly into the darkness.

I received no response. I do not know what I had expected, or even what I had wanted, to hear from her. However, there was one more thing which I needed to say to Agathe.

I took a deep shuddering breath. "I ask for your forgiveness, Agathe, for the way I treated you. And, if you cannot find it in you to forgive me, the only thing I will ask is you remember me the man I was, and not the man I have become."

Suddenly mentally and physical exhausted, I rolled onto my left side, distancing myself from her.

The bed shifted along with Agathe as she closed the distance I had put between us.

I flinched when her slim fingers barely brushed the horrific scarring on my back. As she traced along the thin raised welts, I ground my teeth and willed myself still, subjecting myself to her exploration without protest. After all, I had allowed her to witness a much uglier part of myself.

"I am truly sorry for what you went through, Hans. And, I'm so sorry for the memories which you are still being forced to endure." Agathe's voice was thick with emotion. "If I had the power, I would do anything to excise them from you and to restore you, whole and unbroken, as to how you were before."

Pushing down my own emotion, I rolled over, raising my arm as an invitation. She came to me, laying her head on my chest. My arms went around her, pulling her to me.

I stroked her hair, trying to comfort both her and myself. "Oh, Agathe, if only you could. If only anyone could. Unfortunately, it's now a part of me that will always remain."

Agathe looked up at me. In her dark eyes, there was grief. But beyond that, they also held a slight spark.

Gently, she touched her lips to mine. The tender kiss increased in demand and intensity, our tongues soon violently intertwining.

I rolled on top of her and she brought her arms up behind my neck, pulling me close.

This time, free from the interference of my memories of Guest, our coupling was as intense as before. However, this time, mutually so.

As our incredible shared passion culminated in mind-blowing pleasure, I found the true release I had been seeking all along.

We did not leave our room until the late afternoon, the following day. The hours were filled with continuous ravenous sex, each of us demanding more from each other than we had in the past. Agathe had been a willing partner in the past, but now I did her longer and harder, sharing the erotic variations I enjoyed.

Finally, we ventured out, to enjoy Italy with its beautiful springtime weather.

We were slowly walking along the Mediterranean shore, appreciating the pleasantness of the late afternoon. If one didn't know any better, it would be impossible to tell that a world war was being waged a short distance away.

We rarely spoke during our walk; instead, we enjoyed each other's company in the few remaining moments we would share.

We came across a low stone wall and sat down, waiting for the beautiful sunset. A breeze picked up, and I pulled her close. We said little, and I could feel the soft rise and fall of her body against mine.

I looked past her and gazed out across the Mediterranean.

"The war will be ending, Agathe," I said to her softly.

"I look forward to returning to life as it was before," she responded, looking out over the sea.

"Life will never be the same." My frank words surprised her and she turned to me.

"What do you mean? How will it be different?" Her uncertainty clearly showed on Agathe's face.

I shook my head slightly, not having a ready answer for her. My life would always be measured and determined by the war.

"Hans, tell me. You think Germany is going to lose the war, don't you?" Fear was now showing in her eyes.

"I do, and badly." I looked beyond her, at the sea, not wanting to answer her questions. The sun would be setting soon, just as it would be for Germany.

"When?"

"A few years, probably 1945."

Agathe laid her head on my chest, resigned to the fate.

"What will happen to Germany? What will we do?"

"Live, darling, and regain our lives."

We sat in silence for several moments, my arms around her protectively.

I quickly made the decision I had been debating internally over the last day. I had resisted it, attempting to push aside my growing feelings for Agathe.

Perhaps the fortune-teller had been wrong about Troy, just as she would be wrong about the woman I would marry. Perhaps she had not been. I could not know. I only knew what I wanted at that moment for me, future be damned.

I would take the risk of defying the fortune-teller's will. I instead, I would determine my own destiny. No, I would not be marrying an American redhead. I would instead marry a lovely, statuesque German brunette and she would be the one to bear my son. I would not foolishly lose Agathe again due to my inaction and an idiotic adherence to a prophecy that I had heard so long ago.

I turned Agathe to face me. I cupped her flawless face with my hands and tenderly kissed her on the lips. Taking her hands gently into mine, I looked deeply into her eyes.

"Agathe," I softly whispered to her.

"Hans?"

"Marry me when the war finally comes to a blessed end. I want you to become my wife when sanity returns."

Agathe pulled back from me. A look of surprise and confusion appeared on her lovely features. She did not speak for several seconds.

"I must ask you, Hans. Why me? And why ask me now? Why not wait until the war actually ends to propose?" She left unsaid the very realistic possibility of me being killed in combat in the meantime.

I was slightly taken back by her questions. Her response was different than what I had expected to receive from a woman to whom I had just proposed.

"Agathe, I want to share with you the future we are dreaming about. If only I had pursued you before the war, we would have had years together instead of only a scant few months. Things would have been different."

She nodded, but did not look convinced.

I thought about what reasons could be causing her reservations. Did she suspect what had happened to me by Guest? I was eager to dismiss her reservations. "Are you concerned my proposal is due to the passion and intensity of the war? And that I will rescind my proposal once our lives have returned to normal? If so, then let me tell you, nothing will change from what I feel for you at this moment."

"Oh, Hans, wars have a way of pushing couples apart after initially drawing them together. I've seen it before." Agathe shook her head. "I would never want you to have regrets or feel obligated to fulfill your promise to me."

I listened as Agathe voiced her concerns about my intentions. It gave me pause, and I asked myself if I was marrying her for the right reasons. Suddenly I remembered Irene stating that I would someday find the right woman.

But was I mistaken about Agathe being the right woman for me? Was I marrying her for the right reasons, because I loved her? Or was I marrying her as an attempt to remove me from the desires and doubts Guest had awakened within me?

"I have seen enough of death and destruction," I said, more to myself than to Agathe. "I look forward to spending a quiet life with you after the war. I look forward to learning how to live again. Agathe, I'm asking you to wait for me until we can put the horrors that we've seen behind us. Say yes and make me the happiest man alive," I begged her.

Suddenly, Agathe's face alit from within and her eyes sparkled. Then a smile that quickly appeared that made her unbelievably stunning.

"Hans, I will patiently wait for you if the war should last for the next decade." Agathe continued to smile. "My answer is yes!"

I pulled Agathe to me and kissed her passionately, never wanting to release her.

When we paused, I bowed over her hand. "I will formally ask your father for your hand in marriage and his permission to marry you the next time I return to Germany on leave."

Suddenly, she pulled away from me. I was taken back by her next words.

"I would prefer to keep our engagement a delicious secret, Hans, between just the two of us. I ask that you don't approach my family or inform yours. Besides, asking permission for marriage just isn't necessary in these modern times."

I was puzzled by her request. "I am a traditionalist, especially in a matter as serious as marriage. I would want to ensure we received your father's blessing of our union. Is there a reason why you desire the secrecy from our families?"

"I truly believe that you will honor your offer, but I don't want you to feel any familial pressure if you should grow to feel differently towards me. I want you to marry me because you love me, not because of any forced obligation."

I drew her to me, kissing her deeply again. I looked into her eyes and spoke sincerely.

"Agathe, my love for you will never change nor will my proposal. However, if this is what you desire, I shall honor your request. I will wait and remain faithful to you until we are married."

Sleep eluded me this evening. Normally, I collapsed and slept for hours when I was away from the front, especially after having hard sex with a woman over the course of several hours.

I kissed Agathe on the forehead and slipped from bed. I went to smoke on the small balcony of our room, looking out over the beautiful Mediterranean lit by the waning moonlight. I cursed the war for demanding my departure in the morning. I was envious of other men who had the luxury of staying with their loved ones as chaos descended upon the world.

I was emotionally and physically exhausted from the constant strain of events over the last few weeks. My next orders were returning me to France and I would again be assigned to Rommel's staff. It seemed as if my life was as much inter-twined with Rommel's as it had been with Troy's.

My thoughts drifted from the beautiful Agathe to somehow settle on Troy. I became angry at myself for allowing him to interrupt my intimate thoughts of my fiancée. Why did Troy always appear at the most inopportune moments in my life? I cursed him. It was bad enough on the battlefield, but even worse when I was with a woman.

At least my combat with Troy in the desert was over. Despite my bluff to Lenz, I didn't believe for an instant that he would be returned to the United States back to his ranching life of "hitting cows".

Troy's wounds were serious, but he would survive them and even overcome them. It was highly unlikely I would face him again in combat. Would Troy be reassigned in Europe or to the Pacific theatre? My analytical side told me it would be Europe, and eventually France. I also knew that Troy would be there for the final end of Germany in Berlin, just as he was for the Afrika Korps' end.

I wondered how our lives were still to be inter-twined in the future.

I tried to convince myself, Troy had departed from my life and would longer be a part of it. There would be no Troy in my future.

At that, I forced Troy from mind. He would not haunt my final moments with Agathe. I would not allow it. I would leave Troy and everything associated with him behind in the past, just as I had done with the desert.

I heard the soft step of Agathe's footsteps before her arms went softly around my waist, her hands slipping inside my robe.

"Wouldn't you rather join me in bed?" she purred before beginning to kiss my neck. "So I may give you something to cure your insomnia and abate your desire?" Agathe reached for my cigarette and took a deep drag on it before returning it to me. "Your passion continues to become stronger each time we are together. There is an edge and intensity that continues to grow."

"I was not with my future wife before," I easily lied to her. There was more to this explanation than I cared to admit. I took a final drag on the cigarette and then threw the half-smoked butt away. I turned to face her, gathering her nude body in my arms, the climbing geraniums offering us privacy from others. We were bathed in the moonlight's glow and she looked radiant.

"And if I am to come back to bed with you, what do you have in mind?" I asked her seductively.

"Use your imagination . . ." Agathe responded innocently, slipping off my robe. She began to lightly cover my chest with kisses as her hands caressed my body.

"I have quite an imagination," I said in a low voice. My hands traveled down her taut body, reaching her hips.

"Yes, you certainly do. I find your imagination very creative and exciting . . ."

"Then surprise me, Agathe darling. I want to always remember my final night with my future bride before I returned to combat."

I kissed her hungrily, roughly crushing her body to mine, my arousal and strong desire for her instantly returning.

I had no way of knowing but my passionate words to her were prophetic.


	15. Epilogue

"Well, Troy, are you ready to hit the dance floor?" Moffitt asked with forced cheerfulness. He had found Troy lying in a lounge chair with his feet propped up, staring out intently across the Mediterranean Sea.

"Hardly," Troy growled. "I'll be lucky to ever get my boots back on. I would have loved to have just five minutes with Guest in a dark alley . . ."

"Well, Dietrich beat you to it, didn't he? Didn't even need the dark alley to do so. He just opted to finish off Guest in the building next to the dark alley. Major coincidence that we drove down the very same alley when we were searching for you."

"Yeah."

Troy shook his head in disgust, angrily blowing out a plume of smoke.

Moffitt paused a moment before continuing.

"Has a final decision been made?"

"Yeah, it took some work on my part, but I won't be discharged back to the States. I'll retain leadership of the Rat Patrol. Since the African campaign is finished, we'll be reassigned to a new area in Europe. We'll probably eventually end up in France once the Allies get around to landing there. I would bet that we start off in Italy."

Moffitt was obviously relieved to hear of the command decision. "Good to hear, that we're staying together under you. I, for one, look forward to harassing Jerry all the back to Berlin."

Troy nodded in satisfaction. "That's exactly what I aim to do."

A silence fell between them.

Finally, Moffitt sighed. "He's not there, Troy."

"Check again," Troy ordered. He was in no mood to hear about Moffitt's failure to turn up any useful information.

"I already have. And again. And again. I assure you, Troy, he's not there. No one has the foggiest idea of where he could be."

"He couldn't have just vanished into thin air."

"Oh, but he could. There are thousands of German and Italian soldiers being processed, Troy. He could have been lost in the multitudes. Besides, you know how the situation is, even with our armies. They have more important things to do than keep track of a German captain, even one with a pedigree such as Dietrich's."

Troy was not to be put off. "The Red Cross?"

"It also has nothing. Troy, it hasn't been that long since the Afrika Korps surrendered. In the end it was becoming extremely chaotic for them. Our side is almost as in as poor of shape for having to process so many prisoners in such a very short time. Who knows where Dietrich could have ended up?"

Troy looked unhappy but said nothing.

Moffitt waited a few moments before sharing what he had found.

"I did come across one of your other little German 'friends', though, listed among the surrendering forces."

"I consider no German in my circle of friends," Troy growled.

"Including Dietrich? You seem rather soft when it comes to him," Moffitt asked, the picture of innocence.

Troy snorted. "Not hardly."

Against what could be accepted as better judgement, Moffitt continued to press Troy. "Then why the continued interest in his where-abouts?"

"I owe him something, that's all. He did save my life, you know," Troy responded, defending himself and his interest in Dietrich.

"Yes, yes of course he did. And we are all very thankful to him for it. You know, it would have made more sense for him to leave you instead of aiding in your escape."

"Well, I guess Dietrich helping me only makes up for all the times that he almost killed me." Troy looked at Moffitt. "Okay, I'll bite. Who did you find?"

"One Hauptmann Wilhelm Meyer."

Troy's eyes darkened at the mention of the name. "Why am I not surprised that he lived to surrender?"

"I suppose that it is true that only the good die young." Moffitt shook his head. "You mentioned he was the one who betrayed you and Dietrich to Guest. I thought that you would be interested."

"That is interesting. I'd rather that you'd find Dietrich though, Moffitt."

Moffitt rolled his eyes at Troy's pig headiness and then decided to change the subject.

"Wasn't Meyer Dietrich's predecessor shortly before I joined your team?" he asked.

"Yep, Meyer's the one. It was an easier time before the Germans wised up and replaced Meyer with Dietrich." Troy looked out of the ocean with the barest hint of a smile. "Those were the good old days," he said fondly.

"I'll have Meyer questioned regarding your capture. Afterwards, he'll be processed to a nice, quiet POW camp to keep him out of trouble"

"Forget the questioning, Moffitt. You'd just be wasting everyone's time."

Moffitt was surprised at Troy's lack of interest in Meyer. "I would think, Troy, you would want him to answer for what he did to you and Dietrich."

"I said, forget it. I have no hard proof of his involvement. For all I know, Guest could have been lying to reflect the true source of his information. Without Guest, there's no proof of anything, and he's dead."

"Rather convenient of Dietrich to kill him." Moffitt looked thoughtful.

"Give Dietrich a break, Moffitt. We were escaping. How many men have we killed trying to escape from the Germans?"

"Point taken." Moffitt thought for a moment. "There's always Dietrich's testimony against Meyer. It could be used."

"Moffitt, looks like you forgot that we can't find Dietrich."

"True enough. Seems that you've neatly boxed me in, Troy." Moffitt smiled as he admitted his defeat.

"Good."

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Moffitt spoke again.

"Troy, you must realize that there could be other possibilities regarding Dietrich's vanishing act."

"Like what?" Troy was in no mood for speculation.

"He might have used the abduction as an opportunity to desert. He's fluent in Arabic and knows several dialects. He is also very familiar and friendly with the local tribes. Any one of them could be hiding him. There have been several German soldiers captured in civilian clothes, trying to make their way to neutral territories. He might not have been too enthusiastic about the possibility of being held as a POW for the next few years."

"Not Dietrich. He's as likely to desert as one of us. He even said so in the car. His oath wouldn't allow it."

"You're right, of course. Just providing you with different scenarios." Moffitt paused a moment before speaking what he truly thought.

"Troy, there is the strong possibility that the Gestapo could have 'dealt' with him."

"Dealt with him? What's that mean?"

"There's been numerous reports of instant judgements and even faster punishments from the nearest tree. Think of how it might have looked for him to disappear for several days imminently before the surrender, even with you vouching for him. They could have thought it staged or bought. Or worse yet, that the two of you all were colluding."

"Then why would he return to his unit if he thought his motives would be questioned? That doesn't make any sense. No, Dietrich's not dead," Troy said firmly, looking Moffitt in the eye as if daring him to disagree again. "You can run through as many scenarios as you want. My gut tells me Dietrich somehow made it out of North Africa. I would bet even money he's in Italy."

"Could be. Maybe Dietrich was airlifted out before the surrender," Moffitt admitted. "There were still a few last minute air transports happening before their operations completely ceased. He was seriously wounded and being a war hero, Berlin might not have wanted him captured and used for propaganda purposes."

Troy looked satisfied, accepting that as the likely answer.

"Doesn't really matter, though, does it?" Moffitt asked.

"Matters to me. The man saved my life when he didn't have to. There was no reason for him to waste valuable time on saving me. For that act alone, we'll always be tied together. No matter what happens to either of us."

"No point in debating it then. It's doubtful that we'll ever know for sure what became of Dietrich. There is still a war on. I can't see it ending anytime soon. If Dietrich is alive, he'll probably be sent to the Eastern front where experienced Wehrmacht officers are at a premium."

"Poor bastard."

Moffitt nodded. "I've heard that it's positively brutal there. The Soviets are none too happy that Hitler double crossed them. It will be highly unlikely for Dietrich to survive the onslaught of the Red Army. He'll probably end up buried in some unmarked grave on the outskirts of some unknown primitive village."

"You're wrong, Moffitt," Troy said with certainty. "You mark my words, my path will cross Dietrich's again."

 **ACKNOWLEDGEMENT**

I want to thank Susan, my beta reader, from the bottom of my heart for all her tireless hard work and assistance with my story. Many thanks for helping me continue the story of Hauptmann Dietrich and the Rat Patrol.


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